The Mystery of Sean Moore's Death
by foreverHenry919
Summary: The death of FBI Agent Janeisha Trent prompts Agent Mark Fredrickson to join Team Morgan in the investigation. He steps on everybody's toes, especially Henry's when Jo seems to develop a romantic interest in him. Henry decides to fight for the woman he loves after being urged by Abe and the others. But the FBI agent's death might be a murder and might be connected to Sean Moore's.
1. The Mystery of Sean Moore's Death Ch 1

It has been more than two years since Henry had revealed the secret of his immortality to Jo after she'd confronted him with the aged, black-and-white photograph of Abigail, baby Abe, and him. And more than two years since a confrontation that resulted in him rendering Adam, the twisted Immortal, helpless by placing him in a waking coma called Locked-in Syndrome.

Although the friendship between the Detective and the Immortal had grown stronger during that time period, it had not blossomed into anything romantic yet, much to the dismay of their co-workers who'd placed bets on when their dating life would begin. It wasn't that Henry hadn't felt romantically towards her. On the contrary, his romantic imaginings had begun to invade his waking moments beyond his dreams and he'd been very close to working up the nerve to ask her out. He'd wanted to make sure, though, that she felt the same about him. And, up until two months ago, he'd been pretty sure that she did. That is, until a certain FBI agent turned up and began to occupy her time both on and off the job. He felt that his position of her unofficial crime-solving partner had been usurped by this Agent Mark Fredrickson.

The FBI automatically investigates the injury or death of one of their agents, Fredrickson had told them when he'd first showed up and flashed his badge. Janeisha Trent had been such an agent. She'd met her demise in a most tragic but mysteriously familiar manner. A relatively healthy young woman in her late 20's, she'd died of a sudden heart attack while jogging in Hudson River Park. The agent's death was eerily similar to that of Sean Moore's, Jo's husband who had suffered a sudden heart attack while on a treadmill in Washington, D.C.

"I dunno, Doc. Agent Mark-ee-Mark didn't seem to make his case, as far as I'm concerned. Do you think their deaths are connected in some way?" Hanson asked Henry while they walked back into Henry's office in the morgue after a short meeting in Lt. Reece's office.

"Mark-ee ... ? Henry frowned and drew in a quick breath and let it out through his nose. How he wished these professionals he worked with would refrain from peppering their language with so much of this modern slang. It was growing more and more difficult to keep up with it and respond intelligently to them.

"I presume you are referring to Agent Mark Fredrickson; he voiced his assumptions in a very convincing manner." He walked behind his desk and stood to face Hanson. He looked over Hanson's shoulder, frowning.

"Where's Jo?" As if he didn't know.

"You're askin' me?" Hanson said, surprised and pointing to himself. "I guess that makes two of us not bein' able to keep tabs on her lately."

"Why, whatever do you mean by that, Detective?" Henry asked as innocently as he could and sat down in his chair.

"Oh, c'mon, Doc," Hanson replied. "Ever since this joker showed up with his deck of cards, Jo's the only one he's been dealin' to."

"Detective ... " More colloquialisms, he woefully told himself, but at least he understood his colleague's frustration. They were the same as his own.

"When was the last time you and she ran down a lead together?" Hanson asked, trying to make his point. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he said, nodding his head when Henry failed to respond.

"In her defense, the Lieutenant did order all of us to cooperate fully with the agent," Henry reminded him. Although it seemed odd that if the two deaths were connected that would mean that Jo should not be involved with either case. He became aware of Hanson's voice mirroring his own thoughts.

"Doesn't make sense," the black-haired Detective began. "Proper procedure is for Jo not to be involved even with the Trent case if it's connected to Sean's."

"I suppose ... if they do uncover anything that connects the two deaths, she will be pulled off the investigation at that point," Henry suggested.

"Why didn't you hold onto her, Doc?" Hanson seemed to plead, spreading his hands. "Thought you guys were kinda ... " He twirled his index fingers around each other. "You know." His hands and his face fell at the same time. "Or, at least, gettin' there."

"Detective ... " Henry sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his hand across his forehead.

"Mike. Mike," he repeated more forcefully when Henry snapped his head up to look at him.

"You call me Detective all the time. Even Jo and Lucas get a first name outta ya - "

"Right. Right," Henry nodded with a slight smile. "Mike." His smile broadened at Mike's satisfied grin. "And I'm satisfied that you and most everyone else refer to me as 'Doc' instead of 'Henry'."

Mike rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and then shot a piercing glare at Henry. "Gotcha. But Jo, Doc," he virtually whined. "How could you let this creep move you out of her life like that? If it was me and Karen," he said, pointing his thumb back at himself, "I'd have belted him into next week! Movin' in on MY GIRL!"

"Detec - Mike." Henry sighed and motioned for him to sit down in one of the chairs facing his desk, which he did.

"In spite of popular opinion that seems to run rampant throughout the 11th Precinct and the Morgue, Jo and I were never romantically involved." Mike opened his mouth to say something but Henry put up a hand, cutting him off.

"We're colleagues. Partners. Friends. Nothing more." He pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows and more quietly added, "Besides, _she_ moved me out of her life." He took in a breath and blew it out through his mouth.

"Her life ... her choice," he said with more than a bit of resignation in his voice. "Nothing I can do about it."

"Nothing you can ... ? Doc!" Mike nearly yelled. "Have you ever had your neck wrung?!"

Henry stared at Mike for a few moments and fought the urge to reply that actually, he had. About 120 years ago.

"What would you have me do?" His own frustration was creeping into his voice. And more than a little bit of ... jealousy at the thought of Jo and Fredrickson cuddling together 'in a booth, in the back, in the corner, in the dark', as Abe had once proposed.

"Fight for her, that's what you do!" Mike hissed. "Look, Doc, I ain't no matchmaker but if I was," he raised a finger and leaned toward Henry, "you and Jo would be perfect for each other." He straightened up and prepared to stand.

"Well, maybe not perfect, but certainly a great match." He stood up and buttoned the top button on his suit coat.

Henry suppressed a smile, licking the inside of his lower lip. "Not to feed my own ego, but Fredrickson certainly doesn't seem to be her type."

"It's almost like he's got sumpin' on her," Mike grunted.

"Or perhaps she has something on him," Henry countered.

"You mean like she's sniffing out a lead on her own?" Both men's heads were riveted to the voice that came from the office's open door.

"Lucas!" They both shouted.

"Sorry," Lucas apologized, hands up in a defensive posture. He walked further into Henry's office and stopped near Mike. "I couldn't help but hear. A-a-and I totally ship Jenry."

Henry and Mike exchanged looks. Mike's, of amusement; Henry's, of confusion. They then turned their attention back to Lucas.

"A great romantic coupling. Jenry. You squish 'Jo' and 'Henry' together and you get - " Lucas' last words were cut off by Henry.

"Jenry," he finished for him, nodding. He eyed Lucas and wearily replied, "Very clever, Lucas." Inwardly, though, he smiled and couldn't help but feel validated about his thoughts and concerns regarding Jo and the overbearing federal agent. A man she appeared to have fallen for almost immediately after having met him. But had she? Was she baiting the man in for ... for ... for what? Revenge? If he had anything to do with Sean's death, Henry most certainly could understand her want, her need to exact revenge on the person who may have been responsible for her late husband's death. But he knew that she was not a vengeful person, neither was she given to rash behavior that might jeopardize her job as a respected and highly efficient Detective with the NYPD. Henry stood up from his desk and came closer to Mike and Lucas, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Since it seems to be the general consensus that the lady detective and I should be a couple - "

"C'mon, spit it out, Doc," Mike unceremoniously urged him. "Ya gonna fight for her or what?"

Lucas nodded and pointed a finger at Mike as if to show that he was in complete agreement.

"I shall."

Mike and Lucas gave simultaneous whoops from their two-man cheering section but sobered and nodded enthusiastically at Henry's next words.

"But I'm going to need your help," he added, dipping his head to one, then the other.

vvvv

"I'm sorry, could you please repeat that," Abe jokingly asked with one hand bending the back of his ear forward in his father's direction. It was his reaction to having been told that a fight was brewing in the Morgan camp to wrest Jo's affections back from the much disliked FBI Agent Mark Fredrickson.

Henry shook his head and turned, following the waitperson to their table at Ravi's, a new delicatessen reportedly competing with the legendary Katz's. Abe followed closely behind and they sat in one of the booths near the large window with a street view. While they waited to be served, Henry shared what he had discussed with Mike and Lucas earlier that day.

"Grrr-reat!" Abe happily replied. "Sounds like a plan. Uh ... you do have a plan, right? Other than turning on that everlasting charm of yours?" He'd almost let drop 'Immortal charm' but he'd caught himself at the last second, seeing as how they were in a public place.

"Your enthusiastic support pleases me. However ... I haven't the foggiest on how to proceed," he admitted, clenching his teeth and grimacing.

"This is something that I've never had to experience: fighting for the affections of the woman I lo - " He stopped suddenly and looked wide-eyed at his son, blinking, then swallowed.

"Of the ... wo-man ... you ... " Abe prompted him, slowly circling his hand, beckoning the end of the sentence from Henry's lips.

"Abe," Henry chided him, slightly embarrassed. "You're impossible sometimes."

Their sandwich orders with delicious-looking pastrami piled high between soft, sourdough buns were placed in front of them by their server. They waited until the server left before resuming their conversation.

"Spank me later," Abe deadpanned. "The sooner you say it, the better."

Henry knew that Abe was right. He was always right concerning these matters of the heart. He gave in with a deep but quick sigh.

"I love her. I do."

"Good," Abe said. He cut his sandwich in half and muttered that it should have been served that way in the first place. "Now. Got the first three words out in the open, gotta get you and Jo to those last two words."

Henry stopped chewing, momentarily, on the first bite of his sandwich, then continued. After swallowing, he said, "I take it back that you are sometimes impossible. You're incorrigible!"

"OK, that's me. We're talking about you and Jo, though." He ignored his father's reproof and asked for more details on how or if the death of Sean Moore was connected to Janeisha Trent.

vvvv

Two months before ...

The lifeless body of a young, African-American woman lay sprawled face up and eyes open at the base of a street light near the end of Pier 25 in Hudson River Park. The anguished grimace on her face was still showing and her right hand lay across her chest as if she'd been clutching it through her blue hoodie right before dying.

"Name's Janeisha Trent, FBI Agent. We've notified them, they're sending their people over, and someone will meet us at the precinct."

"Not a robbery," Mike continued. "Jewelry, money, credit cards, cell phone not taken." He held the items up packed in smaller plastic bags inside of a larger one. He then squatted down and pointed to her expensive running shoes.

"Burberry; $375." He stood back up. "I know because my wife's sister, Gayle, has a pair just like 'em. And she's been buggin' me ever since she saw 'em for me to get her a pair. On my salary," he scoffed.

"There's always layaway," Jo smirked.

"You're not helpin'," he replied dryly.

"So good to see that you two can still find the humor in all of this." Henry approached and exchanged greetings with them while putting on a pair of blue, latex gloves. He then knelt down on one knee and braced his arm on his other knee as he examined the woman's body.

"Witnesses say she runs here couple times a week. Today, she just seemed to crumple all of a sudden and fall here. Heart attack, right, Doc?" Mike asked hopefully.

"All I can tell you, Detective, is that I see the results of a myocardial event." He tilted his head to the side, his eyes roaming over her body. "Not any detrimental physical evidence of what may have led up to it."

"So, murder?" Jo asked, glancing at Mike, then back at Henry.

"I must examine the body further before answering that question, Detective."

Just then, the dead woman's cell phone buzzed.

"Still on," Mike said, holding up the plastic bag. He fished it out of the bag with a glove and swiped it to open it but it didn't work.

"One of those new phones with facial recognition." Mike huffed out a sigh of defeat. He caught Jo's drift, though, when she motioned to the phone and then down to the woman's body on the ground.

"Yeah, worth a try." Mike bent down and placed the phone directly in front of the corpse's face and that did the trick. Laughing with an a-ha-ha, he was able to get into the phone and retrieve her text messages.

"Last text was from someone using the name StrangerDanger." Mike read the text: "Hv u tkn ur vits 2day?" Mike and Henry both frowned at the message but Jo quickly tensed and stared off into the river waters.

"Maybe somebody reminding her to take her vitamins?" Mike speculated.

"Or maybe somebody making sure that she already had," Henry offered. Not having heard anything from Jo, he looked over to see her turned away from them, apparently trying to hide the fact that she was visibly shaken. Before he could say anything to her, Mike asked if she was all right.

"Um, yeah, yeah, fine." But she didn't look fine to either of them. She looked pale and upset; reminiscent of when she'd viewed a videotape of her late husband, Sean, interrogating Aaron Brown before he'd wound up as a murder victim. She quickly walked away and told Mike that she would meet him back in the bullpen. The two men exchanged looks of concern then Mike left to head back to the bullpen, too. Luckily, he had driven his own assigned police car over. Henry watched their retreating forms and then supervised the transport of the woman's body to the morgue. He wondered what could have caused Jo to suddenly appear so unsettled. One puzzle at a time, he told himself, as the van pulled up to the morgue and into a parking space.

vvvv

Notes:

References to "Forever TV show episode "Diamonds Are Forever".

Information about cell phones with facial recognition and Hudson River Park found on YouTube.


	2. The Mystery of Sean Moore's Death Ch 2

_"Last text was from someone using the name StrangerDanger." Mike read the text: "Hv u tkn ur vits 2day?" Mike and Henry both frowned at the message but Jo quickly tensed and stared off into the river waters._

 _Henry wondered what could have caused Jo to suddenly appear so unsettled. One puzzle at a time, he told himself._

vvvv

That was two months ago but Henry still bristled as he recalled when Janeisha Trent's body was being removed from the back of the morgue van by two attendants while he'd looked on. Just as he'd begun directing them to the elevators, a familiar voice had come from behind him. By then, he knew that voice very well and though it didn't cause icy fingers to crawl up and down his spine like Adam's did, it still had a jarring effect to his system, causing his jaw to clamp shut and his teeth to grind together.

 _"Dr. Morgan," the brown-haired man with the steel-blue eyes had cordially addressed him. The underlying smugness and contempt in his voice had seeped through, though._

 _"Agent Fredrickson," Henry had stiffly replied. "Why, may I ask, have you commandeered Ms. Trent's corpse away from our morgue?"_

 _"You know as well as I do, Doctor. She was one of our own, and we take care of our own. Besides, the bureau has its own pathology lab. Our people are just as capable as those in your morgue ... without all the Brit-boy insanity." He'd left after a two-fingered salute once her body had been loaded into a black van and then he'd slipped into the front passenger seat of a sleek, black SUV with tinted windows. As the two vehicles slowly exited the parking garage, Lucas felt it necessary to throw a barb._

 _"Their pathology lab doesn't have **us** , though," Lucas had proudly pointed out. When Henry had turned a surprised and questioning face to him, he'd back-pedaled a bit. "And by that, I mean their lab doesn't have **you**." He'd emphasized the last word by lifting both hands up and pointing both index fingers down at Henry._

 _Henry had half-smiled, slightly frowning, and told him, "Don't sell yourself short, Lucas. Your original assessment was correct. Their lab doesn't have us. You, as my assistant, have proven to be a most valuable asset." He concluded by dipping his head once._

Seated behind his desk in his office at the morgue, Henry smiled at the memory of the blush and look of surprise on Lucas' face after he'd told him that. However, his smile faded when reminded of Fredrickson's back-handed insult and of not being able to perform an autopsy on Janeisha Trent's body. And not just that, Hanson often reminded whoever would listen, all the evidence that the NYPD's CSU had gathered, including her cell phone with the last text message about taking her vitamins, had also been confiscated by the FBI via Agent Mark-ee Mark, as Hanson liked to call him.

"Boss? Boss? Hey-eyyy," Lucas said, waving his hand at Henry in an attempt to get his attention. Henry abandoned his thoughts and raised his eyebrows, finally focusing on Lucas.

"Boy, you really get lost, don't you?" his young assistant chuckled.

Henry sighed. "Can't seem to get Janeisha Trent's murder out of my mind." He looked directly at Lucas and added, "And the COD was murder, not natural causes. The FBI people got it wrong," he muttered and rose from his chair.

"Maybe it's a cover-up," Lucas offered, shrugging.

"Of course, it's some kind of cover-up!" Henry gnashed his reply and shrugged out of his white lab coat, hanging it on the coatrack near his desk. Grabbing his suit coat off of the rack, he held it by the back of the collar and twirled it up and behind him, effortlessly slipping his arms into the sleeves as gravity flattened it down around him. He then grabbed his scarf off of the rack and wound it around his neck a couple of times. A frown of confusion crossed his face when he noticed Lucas gazing at him, enthralled.

"What?"

"Uh, it's just, uh, how you do that with the, uh, suit coat," he stammered out. "The twirling up and, you know, reminds me of Zorro or Batman."

Henry held the ends of his scarf in each hand and gave Lucas a look of annoyed disbelief. Although he was familiar with the two fictitious heroes, he bemoaned the hero worship Lucas insisted on heaping upon him.

"Or not," Lucas quickly added, stepping aside to allow Henry to walk past him. He muttered an embarrassed "Good night" in response to Henry's.

Cover-up, Henry thought. He came to a stop just past Lucas' workstation and turned around to face him.

"Lucas. Might I run a hypothetical by you? You have ... keen acumen." He tilted his head, smiling slightly as he viewed him through squinted eyes.

"I do? I, I mean I do. I mean sure," Lucas' smiling face failed to hide his self-doubt.

"Lucas," Henry forged on, "what if Agent Trent's murder is being covered up - actually swept under the rug - by the FBI because she was working undercover?" He turned his head slightly away from Lucas as he spoke but maintained eye contact with him, furrowing his brow.

"Jo seemed to become quite disconcerted when Mike read the last text message received on Agent Trent's cell phone: 'Hv u tkn ur vits 2day?'." He jerked his head slightly to look directly at Lucas and asked, "What does that tell you?"

Disconcerted, Lucas thought, sighing. More Austen-y talk. Then, "You mean she freaked."

Henry rolled his eyes, closing then opening them again. "No, she didn't freak, Lucas. Jo doesn't ... freak," he replied, shaking his head vigorously. "She became visibly upset but turned away from us in order to hide it. You were right earlier when you said that she was tracking down a lead of her own."

"Okay. So, what you asked before about the text message to Agent Trent, I guess she was a bit of a health nut and so were ... her friends ... ?" Lucas flopped his hands up, then down. "I dunno, Doc. You must think I'm smarter than what I am."

"No, Lucas. You are smarter than you think." Henry sighed and continued along his train of thought. "What if Jo's late husband, Sean Moore, had received the exact same text message right before his own untimely death?"

"Oh, I gotcha," Lucas replied, drawing the words out. "If that was some kind of code to let her know that her cover had been blown - "

"A hypothetical, of course, but ... it would stand to reason that Sean Moore's cover had also been blown." Henry bit on the inside of his lower lip as he paced on a small scale near Lucas' workstation. "That could also mean that they may have been working on the same case."

"But he was supposed to have been in Washington, D.C., to take a deposition," Lucas reminded him. "You're saying he wasn't?" Henry shook his head, a sly smile creeping onto his face.

"Uh ... okay ... ?" Lucas was still a bit confused but ready to be enlightened by his boss with the Big Brains and the Sherlockian flair.

"Just - follow me on this. I'm willing to bet my life on it that the text messages connect Janeisha's and Sean's murders somehow." The thought slowly came to him that Jo may have to face the truth behind her husband's COD. That it was a murderously-induced heart attack. His smile turned upside down and his brow plunged into a dark scowl. That would explain why she had almost immediately involved herself with Agent Fredrickson: to get answers of her own because she had never really believed the heart attack story. Did Agent Fredrickson have any answers for her? Or did he have anything to do with Sean's death? If he did, Heaven forbid, that could mean that Jo was also in danger if he became suspicious of her. Getting to the bottom of this mystery was going to be a sticky wicket, indeed.

vvvv

"So, you're saying that you weren't really dumped by Jo for this FBI guy, then?" Abe asked while he stirred a creamy pot of homemade Alfredo sauce.

"Dumped? Rather a harsh term, don't you think?" He frowned as he sipped his tea. "She's simply trying to uncover the truth behind Sean Moore's death. She's working a case." Never did he like to think that Jo had forsaken him for this poor man's version of her late husband. Just the mere thought of that fellow being near her made his blood boil. The thought of him holding her ... caressing her ... kissing ...

"A case she's not supposed to be working, as I understand it," Abe pointed out, interrupting his thoughts. He set the tureen down in the center of the table with the Alfredo-sauced chicken and pasta in it. "Sounds like she's walking a thin line." He pulled off his oven mitts, placing them on the counter near the stove and took his seat at the table.

"Now, let's get down to the real reason why we live," Abe announced with a delightful grin. He ladled a generous portion of the meal onto a plate and handed it to his father.

Henry put the plate down in front of him and whipped his napkin out to fullness and placed it on his lap. "And what, pray tell, is the real reason we live?"

"To eat!" Abe replied. "You don't eat, you don't have the energy to do," he lowered his voice, "other things." He threw a devilish smile at his father and wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

"Abraham." Henry shook his head, frowning a bit but fought to keep a smile from showing.

"Anyway, I'm with Lucas and ... what's his face, Mike. Yeah. You've got to get crackin' on solving these two cases so you can get Jo away from that FBI mashugana."

"Ha! You've never even met the man. How can you be so certain that he's a ... mashugana?" Inwardly, though, he wholeheartedly concurred with his son's descriptor.

Abe stuck his fork into his food and with a one-eyed squint, pointed a finger at his father. "Any guy who comes between my Pops and his girl is a mashugana!" He shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth and chewed it up as if he were the giant in the fairytale, crunching the bones of his latest victim.

Although he was working hard at taming his smile muscles, Henry said, "I appreciate the sentiment, Abraham, but technically she is not 'my girl'. We've never even been on a first date, yet."

"Oh, you will," Abe replied after swallowing another tasty mouthful. "And she is." He looked his father directly in the eyes. "Your girl."

A blush spread across Henry's face at the same time that his smile muscles broke loose from his control and spread into a wide grin.

vvvv

At the same time across town ...

Jo and the aforementioned mashugana FBI guy, Frederickson, were savoring the delicious cuisine in a long-established Japanese restaurant that also served Chinese food. One of the first in the Beni-Hana restaurant chain, it had opened its doors in the late 1970's. For the last 12 years it had changed ownership and was now a member of the chain of restaurants under the Martin Yan empire.

"Maybe after this, we can top off the evening with a movie?" he asked before devouring another tempura shrimp.

Jo smiled and shook her head as she spooned up another beef wonton from her soup. "It's been a long, tiring day and I know that after stuffing myself on these delights, I won't be able to stay awake in a movie theater. It's home for me."

"Good. Wasn't thinking of a movie theater, anyway. So we can just go to your place, you can go to sleep in my arms." His words were blatantly suggestive, his smile hopeful. Maybe tonight, he thought.

What a jerk, Jo thought, and how unromantic. Henry would never say anything like that to her. Huh? And what made her think of Henry? Because she realized her quirky, crime-solving partner would know just the right words to say to her ... and which ones not to say.

She sighed, feeling her appetite shut down at her dinner companion's words - his very presence, actually - but still managed to keep her phony smile plastered on her face. She knew he was making a desperate stab at being romantic or sexy or something but, as usual, it had fallen flat. Frankly, she was beginning to think that this ploy of hers, pretending to have a romantic interest in this guy in the hopes of picking his brain and finding out the truth about Sean's death, was a mistake. Jo just couldn't stand the guy. Time to call it quits with the phony romance. Romance? Ha! That's a laugh. Guy doesn't know romantic from a hole in the ground! Still, she felt she'd made a few interesting discoveries, enough to end the charade, but the identical text messages sent to both Sean and Agent Trent had caused her to dig her heels in and stay in the game a bit longer.

"Not very romantic." The words with a harsh, metallic edge to them, escaped her lips before she realized it. "I ... uh ... am just not ready for anything like that yet," she felt it best to clarify while softening the tone of her voice enough to not piss him off too much. Never with you, buster, she vowed to herself.

Frederickson stopped eating and eyed the now unappetizing food around on his plate. _'What you said last time,'_ he glumly muttered to himself.

"Look," he chuckled, "I have to say that sometimes," he chuckled again, "it feels like there's someone else here with us." He looked across the table at her to see her reaction.

"Someone else?" she asked, genuinely confused. "You mean ... well ... naturally, this case you're working on reminds me of Sean."

"No, not Sean," he replied with a piercing gaze.

She shook her head, a confused smile on her face and huffed. "Then ... who?"

"Oh, I dunno," he replied, his frustration beginning to show. "Someone with a white lab coat, some fru-fru scarves and probably the phoniest British accent this side of the Atlantic comes to mind!"

Jo couldn't believe what she was hearing. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times and finally found her voice. "Henry and I are just partners, professional partners and I can't believe we're arguing about this." She wiped her mouth with her napkin, threw it down by her bowl, and pushed her chair out to leave.

Fredrickson rose slightly in his chair and extended an outstretched hand to her. "Wait, wait, please." He'd caught her attention and managed to halt her exit. "Please. Just sit down?" He watched her as she retook her seat, her mouth in a thin line, her eyes downcast.

"I'm ... sorry. Just ... " He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I lose out to other guys ... ya know?" he chuckled mirthlessly. "You and I dated before you met Sean, remember? Well ... once, anyway." He clamped his lips together and tucked his chin into his chest.

 _'Yes,'_ she recalled. That one date had been enough for her. The man, in her opinion, had been merely going through the motions until he could get her into bed. Which didn't happen. Their mutual friend had sworn up and down that he was a great guy and a 'catch'. Yeah, right. He had not only bored her with all his FBI training talk but had grossed her out with his blatant, suggestive remarks of a sexual nature.

That was before she'd met Sean, the love of her life. Promiscuity did not enter her vocabulary of life until after his death. But even if she'd never met Sean or anyone else, one date with Mark Fredrickson had been enough for her.

"They're better looking," Fredrickson continued his self-debasement. "Better dressers. Smarter. They always seem to know the right things to do and say to keep a woman ... happy." He looked at Jo, then averted his gaze, a look of abject embarrassment on his face. "Guess that makes me a little paranoid when I'm ... when things don't seem to be going quite right ... " his voice trailed off.

Ohhh, Jo felt like kicking herself for thinking him only capable of banal and boring behavior. The poor guy's just clueless in dealing with women. Okay. She'd just been ready to take the out provided her earlier and end the "relationship" but now ... Dang! The way he'd just opened up to her (in a way that, admittedly, Henry never had and probably never would) tugged at her heartstrings. But she still had no plans to fall asleep in his arms.

"Um, Mark, um, look, there's no one else, okay?" There really wasn't. She'd told him the truth about her and Henry's strictly professional relationship. The ME seemed to have a thing for blondes, anyway. Sigh.

"There's that new superhero movie playing at the AMC on 84th." She smiled and patted his hand. "I'd love to go see it." She felt much better when he returned her smile and nodded. He stood briefly as she excused herself to freshen up in the ladies room.

He watched her as she walked towards the ladies room and disappeared into it. Once she was out of sight, his smile faded and he pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. He woke the phone up and tapped a contact on his phone list. The party at the other end answered on the first ring.

"This is Fredrickson ... No, no progress yet on that ... I'm workin' on it!"

He rolled his eyes and hissed into his phone. "Because she hasn't let me into her house yet."

He closed his eyes in frustration and nodded. "Yeah ... yeah, I know it's been two months. Just ... gotta take another route to get inside ... No, I'm sure that she's waiting for _me_ to give _her_ answers, so that means she hasn't stumbled across what Moore stashed in their own home yet."

He scoffed and added, "After all this time she hasn't found it. He hid it well ... Yes, I'm sure it's there. He may have been a bleedin' heart nice-nick but he was smart and thorough."

He could see Jo in his peripheral vision coming back to their table and knew he had to end the call. The phone still held up to his ear, he rose from his chair while she slid back into hers.

"Yeah. Great. Thanks for the update." He nodded, ended the call and shut off his phone, dropping it back into his jacket pocket.

"Problem?" Jo asked politely.

"Oh. Nothing I can't handle," he assured her with a fake, broad grin. Nothing at all.


	3. The Mystery of Sean Moore's Death Ch 3

_"This is Fredrickson ... No, no progress yet on that because she hasn't let me into her house yet ... Yeah, I know it's been two months. Just gotta take another route to get inside."_

vvvv

Jo and FBI Agent Fredrickson, having had, for the most part, an enjoyable evening of dinner out and a movie, pulled up to her house in his tricked-out SUV only to see several police cars parked askew outside. Her hand flew to her mouth and she unbuckled her seatbelt, exiting the vehicle just as it rolled to a stop. Ignoring Fredrickson's call for her to wait for him, she ran hurriedly up to her house. She fought against panicking, telling herself that there really wasn't anything of great value in the house but what she did own was what both she and Sean had treasured during their short marriage. Fredrickson jogged up and fell in step with her, telling her that everything was going to be okay; that he was there for her. Barely listening to him, she pulled out her badge and raised it to flash to a uni standing in the open doorway at the top of the stairs but Fredrickson beat her to it.

"Agent Mark Fredrickson, FBI," he said authoritatively, flashing his badge. The uni, Officer Pete Daniels, seemed confused, looking him up and down quickly, then turned to Jo, who rolled her eyes and held up her own badge.

"Detective Jo Martinez, NYPD." She clipped her badge onto the front waistband of her slacks and asked, "What's going on here at my home?"

"Yes, Detective, thought I recognized you," Daniels, said, tipping his cap to her. He gave another quick look at Fredrickson then back at her. "Got a report of a possible break-in. You'll have to check to see if anything's been disturbed or missing. Oh! we got the guys."

Jo's head snapped to her left when Daniels motioned to one of the squad cars. As she descended the stairs and drew closer to the car, she bit her lip to prevent her jaw from dropping to the ground when she saw the two men cuffed and seated in the back: Henry and Lucas! A range of emotions from astonishment to confusion to anger, played over her features as her eyes bored into Henry's. Both men smiled weakly, raising their cuffed hands to offer a shaky wave to her. They both lowered their eyes in defeat as her hardened features told them the genial approach was not working.

"According to their ID's, they both work in the ME's office but they're not talkin'." Daniels held up a small notepad and began to read their names but Jo interrupted.

"Dr. Henry Morgan, ME. His trusted sidekick, Lucas Wahl," Jo said dryly.

"Yeah, I figured you knew them. The doctor's name, at least, is familiar," Daniels said fighting back a grin. "He's racked up quite a few public nudity arrests. We'll run 'em both downtown and - "

"Release them," Jo said with a big sigh. "They weren't trying to break in. Dr. Morgan just, uh, probably lost the key that I gave to him and they got a little ... creative."

"Uh, they were caught red-handed trying to pick the lock with a paperclip, if you can believe it."

"I agree, Jo, you shouldn't let them get away with this," Fredrickson chimed in, glaring at Henry.

"I'm NOT pressing charges," Jo told them both forcefully. "It's all a misunderstanding. Uncuff them, please." Daniels reluctantly obeyed her, all the while struggling to hide a smile.

"There you go, Dr. Morgan, Mr. Wahl," Daniels said. He then tipped his cap to them all and left to relay the message to the others to wrap things up and head out.

Henry and Lucas rubbed their wrists, watching the police presence dissipate and did their best to avoid Jo's eyes boring into them. Lucas finally heaved a big sigh, clapping his hands and backing away.

"Guess I'll be leaving now, heh, heh. Thank you very much, Det. Martinez, and, and, bye, everyone." He quickly turned and ran down the street to the nearest subway entrance.

Fredrickson glared after him then leveled his angry stare at his perceived nemesis, Henry. "Inauspicious way to end our date, don't you think, Jo?" He attempted to put his arm around her shoulders but she stepped forward, away from him and closer to Henry.

"Yes, it is but it's best we call it a night, Mark," Jo replied, never taking her eyes off of Henry. Remembering her manners, she turned to him and smiled. "Thank you for a nice evening, Mark. Good night."

Taking that as his cue to exit, he clamped his lips together and turned and huffed off back to his car. Henry, much chagrined, lowered his eyes, avoiding Jo's intense gaze. He clasped his hands in front of him and managed to work up a feeble smile.

"Jo, there is a perfectly good explanation for all of this, I can assure you."

"Shut. Up. Henry."

His large eyes widened even larger as he nodded, wiping the smile off of his face. Thankful that she hadn't slapped him.

"Inside," she hoarsely whispered, almost hissing. He followed her up the stairs and into her house. Seeing that it was his first time ever being inside her home, he was naturally curious but had to curb it for now and remained close by her side as she turned on the hall light and led him into the livingroom. She removed her coat, shrugging off his gentlemanly help, and tossed it on the arm of the chair near the fireplace. "Henry, what were you and that ... **brainless** assistant of yours doing trying to break into my home?!" she demanded.

"We were tracking down a lead, Jo. Well ... exploring a hypothesis, really. But I didn't feel it was necessary to bother you while you were on your date." He paused, sighing. "I had watched you pick a lock with a hairpin once and felt that I could accomplish the same using a paperclip," he offered as a feeble excuse.

Jo closed and opened her eyes, shaking her head vigorously. "What? What lead? Hypothesis about what?! Do you realize that some trigger-happy neighbor or cop could have shot you two? Maybe killing you? And they probably would have been perfectly justified since you were committing a crime." Her head was tilted to the side, her hands on her hips.

 _'Killing me? he asked himself. Lucas, perhaps, but him ... ?'_

"I can fully understand your consternation, Jo, but my hypothesis has to do with, with, with the death of your husband, Sean Moore," he nervously stammered out. He watched her reaction, similar to her reaction to the cryptic text message that Agent Trent had received shortly before her death a couple of months ago. His heart broke for her as he could only imagine the myriad of thoughts and emotions besieging her right now and evident on her face and in her demeanor. He reached for her as she appeared to begin to sway but she quickly walked away and dropped into the armchair near the fireplace.

"Jo, this is exactly why I did things the way I did. Never would I want to cause you any unnecessary distress. If Lucas and I had been able to find whatever damaging evidence Sean had hidden here in your home, then - "

"We would not have been able to use it," she finished for him. Jo raised an eyebrow and stuck her neck out at him. "Evidence uncovered illegally, remember?"

Henry closed his eyes and hung his head, recalling how the case against the copycat serial killer, Scott Bentley, had almost been blown because Abe had stolen a sales ledger from his fellow antique dealer, The Frenchman, instead of it having been legally obtained by warrant.

"Yes, Jo. Sorry." He sighed and looked up at her from where he now knelt in front of her. "I let my enthusiasm run away from me." He scooted back when she sat forward, her brow slightly furrowed.

"Damaging evidence. You said damaging evidence that Sean hid somewhere in our home." She stood up and Henry did likewise. "Concerning what?" she asked him.

"Something that he uncovered and most likely got him killed," he reluctantly concluded.

Jo, still deep in thought, looked around the room and put a finger to her lips as if considering something. "We decorated this place together. Planned and executed every project together." Henry nodded but frowned, not quite following her.

"Except for one project," she whispered. She quickly made her way to the stairs and ascended them with Henry close behind her. His palms became sweaty when he realized that he was following Jo into the bedroom. His first visit to her home. What was he thinking? He aggressively shoved any untoward thoughts aside, reminding himself that this was strictly business. Strictly related to the now obvious cold case of her husband's murder.

"Jo, ah, where are we going?" His voice cracked a little involuntarily and he swallowed.

"Our bedroom," she replied, switching on the light. "I mean ... mine." She walked into the room and placed her hands on her hips, staring at the wine-colored wallpaper on the wall at the head of the bed. "Sean insisted on papering this wall all by himself, though." She turned to Henry and smirked at his frown of disapproval.

"I know," she said. "Poor Sean, he didn't have the best decorating sense. But at the time I didn't really care because it was the last project and I was studying for my Detective's shield." Henry stood awkwardly next to her as her eyes roamed over the wall.

"Here. Help me pull the bed away from the wall." The two of them pulled it back about a foot from the wall. Jo retrieved a small flashlight from the nightstand drawer and lay face down on the bed. She shoved the pillows onto the floor and peered over the side as she shined the flashlight down along the baseboard. Henry gingerly mirrored her pose on the bed and followed the light as she shined it. He saw a slight bulge just above the baseboard on what he surmised had been Sean's side of the bed. If he were to hide something in his own bedroom, he imagined, it would be closer to his side so he could keep an eye on it better.

"There, Jo," he said, pointing to the bulge in the wallpaper.

"What the - ?" Jo asked. "Here," she said, shoving the flashlight into Henry's hand. She opened the nightstand drawer again and pulled a letter opener out of it. She then exchanged it with Henry for the flashlight, nodding at him to proceed.

Henry carefully sliced into the wallpaper around the bulge and peeled it back to retrieve a small plastic Ziploc bag with a disc in it. They both straightened up to sitting positions as Henry held the bag up and they both marveled at it, wondering what the information was on it that most likely was the reason for the deaths of two people.

vvvv

Fredrickson sat in his SUV, gripping the wheel and fuming over the fact that he had squired Jo around town that night but Henry had wound up being the man invited into her home! Plus, he was making no progress getting inside himself so he could search the place. What bothered him most, though, was the fact that Henry and his assistant were caught red-handed attempting to break in to her place. Why? Was the good doctor on to something? Something that could jeopardize not only his career with the Bureau, but also that of several others? Moore had been a plant. But Trent had been about to go whistleblower on him and his crew. If Morgan had been able to find anything that would connect him to Moore's and Trent's murders - yes, he could say it now for he'd crossed that line years ago - he simply couldn't have that. He felt a twinge of guilt that Jo might get caught in the crossfire because he genuinely had feelings for her. But that couldn't be helped now. He was determined to cover his tracks by any means necessary.

vvvv

Jo and Henry sat at her dining room table, her laptop in front of her. She logged in and removed the disc from the bag and inserted it into the slot. They were both disappointed when an error message popped up on the screen indicating there was a problem reading the disc. Jo swore under her breath and removed the disc.

"What ... what does that mean, Jo?" Henry asked anxiously.

"It means it's damaged or maybe just dusty or dirty," she muttered in reply while she rubbed it vigorously against her pants in an effort to clean it. Then she popped it back into the slot and smiled when it appeared the computer was finally able to read it. The screen went white and they eagerly awaited for something, anything to display but the screen turned blue again with the same error message. This time they both swore out loud.

"I'll have to take it to someone who can retrieve the data off of this," Jo told him as she removed the disc again and placed it back into the small plastic bag. She shut her laptop down and closed her eyes, sighing. Then she let out a huge yawn with several high-pitched squeaks.

"Oh, sorry," she said, smiling but embarrassed.

"Jo, it's been a long day. For both of us," Henry said. "You're exhausted and so am I," he admitted. "Time for you to get some rest and I'll make my own way home."

"Henry, it's late." The nautical clock on the mantel displayed 2:32 AM. "Wow, very late! Look, Henry, you might as well stay here until morning."

"No, Jo, I can't, I - "

"You can crash on the couch over there," she smirked. "Nice and comfy. I've slept there a lot of times myself." When he still looked uncertain, she swallowed and told him, "I'd feel a lot better not being alone tonight." Her eyes failed to meet his but he could see them glistening.

"Old memories about Sean mixing in with new revelations about his possible murder, well ... " her voice trailed off as her eyelids fluttered against unshed tears. "I ... I need a friend around right now."

"Of course, Jo," Henry replied. "I'll be more than happy to stay here with you, er, tonight. That's what friends are for." He smiled at her, happy to see her smile in return.

"Why don't you wait over there on the couch and I'll bring you some PJ's? You can use that blanket already on the back of the couch," she pointed out.

While he sat and waited for her to return, he took the opportunity to take in the room's decor. He could see Sean's tastes from some of the dark wood and masculine pieces but also Jo's modern feminist touches in the lighter colors and the glass-top dining room table. The nautical clock was of particular interest to him since he had an almost identical one in the shop that he'd salvaged from a Morgan family estate sale in 1877. He rose from his seated position and walked over to get a closer look at it.

"Sean was from a Navy family going back three generations." Jo's voice wafted into the room behind him. She dropped the PJ's on the couch and walked over to join him. "He was with JAG during his stint in the Navy before we met. He cut quite a figure in his uniform," she said, grinning.

"I'm sure he was a fine figure of a man," Henry said, turning around to face her. "And a fine lawyer." His expression turned serious as he gazed into her eyes. "Thank you again, Jo, for not running Lucas and me, uh, up, uh down ... ?" He broke out into a grin.

"Running you in," she corrected him with a laugh. They both became serious when they realized that they were only inches apart from each other. Just the tick of the clock on the mantel could be heard but just barely above their fluttering hearts. The pair felt drawn to each other.

Was Henry leaning towards her? Jo thought. Her breath caught in her throat. She had no idea that Henry was thinking the same of her. His palms had become sweaty again. But both reluctant lovebirds, still unwilling to declare their feelings for each other, caught themselves before the inevitable crush of longing lips and a tender embrace.

"Well, I ... I'll just go on up to bed," Jo said, stammering over Henry's over-eager agreements and noddings as she pointed to the staircase.

"Yes, yes, thank you, Jo, for ... for ... for everything," he chuckled nervously as he walked quickly over to the couch and picked up the PJ's. "Everything." He sighed and bid her goodnight.

"Night, Henry." Jo smiled and disappeared up the staircase.

He listened to her fading footsteps and began to trade his street clothes for the PJ's. He laid down on the couch and spread the blanket over himself. Lying back with his hands under his head, he closed his eyes, smiling at their almost kiss and whispered, "Night, Jo."

Notes: _

Reference to "Forever" TV episode S01/E06 "The Frustrating Thing about Psychopaths"


	4. The Mystery of Sean Moore's Death Ch 4

The next morning, Jo wasn't surprised that Henry had made breakfast before she'd even awakened. The memory of Lucas and him red-faced and handcuffed in the back of the police car last night, brought a smile to her lips. Her smile and good humor faded into somberness when reminded of the reasons behind their unorthodox actions.

"Sean was murdered," she whispered to herself, admitting that the thought had crossed her mind more than once almost from the moment she'd learned of his death. It wasn't just an unfortunately-timed heart attack that had taken him too soon from her. Someone had deliberately ended Sean's life, nearly causing her to want to end her own.

Jo looked at her plate of food and marveled at the fact that Henry had been able to scrounge up so much from her refrigerator and kitchen cupboards. She just didn't do that much grocery shopping now for just herself. But her plate held scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon (when did she buy _that_?), English muffins, strawberry jam, and he'd made coffee. Henry was seated across from her, so comfortable looking. Like he belonged there. She shook that thought out of her head only to notice that he'd been watching her eat.

"Making sure that I clean my plate, Papa?" she asked teasingly.

"I've seen you eat what you say passes for breakfast, Detective," he replied, shuddering and sucking in a breath between his teeth. "There's a lot to be said for starting the day with the proper nutrients."

"Thank you, anyway, for whipping this up for me," Jo told him, appreciatively. "You and Abe really make sure that I'm properly fed." She laid her fork down in her plate and looked apologetically at him. "Kind of forgot myself last night when I said that you might have been shot and killed." She sighed and said, "Sorry." The unspoken between them was that, of course, they both knew he could be killed. He'd just come back. But Lucas didn't know that.

"But I was taking a risk both with Lucas' life and with maintaining the secrecy of my condition, so ... " he conceded as his voice trailed off.

"So, you owe him. Big time," she told him and he nodded, smiling.

"For a lot of things," he acknowledged. "Next on my agenda getting that taken care of," he promised her.

"Well, you get on that and I'll get on finding out what could be on this disc," she said, turning her attention to finishing her breakfast and the disc.

"Jo, ah, since you are not supposed to be investigating either of these two cases - " he began.

"Who said I'm investigating?" she replied, feigning innocence. "I simply found a funny disc, I mean, _you_ found a disc while we ... were ... " she bobbed her head up and down searching for words.

"While we were inspecting the, ah, ghastly wallpaper in your bedroom - "

"Bathroom," she quickly offered as a correction. "Ghastly?" she asked, frowning. "I wouldn't ... dark, maybe and somber, but, okay, ghastly." She rolled her eyes at the smug expression on his face.

"Yes, your bathroom," he repeated and then continued spinning the story of how they'd discovered the disc. "I noticed an anomaly near the floorboard directly behind the loo - "

Jo squinted at him at the mention of 'loo'.

"The toilet," he conceded as she smiled and nodded. "I investigated and found the disc," he finished. He then scratched the side of his neck and asked, "Exactly who should I give it to, Jo?"

Jo thought for a moment and then told him, "Give it to Lieu. She'll know what to do with it. In fact, I'll call her." She stopped herself and rolled her eyes upward as she corrected herself. "You will call her and alert her to the find."

He gave her a thumbs up once they'd successfully concocted a plausible scenario that would not cast suspicion upon either of them or disqualify whatever evidence the disc held. They then finished their morning meal and cleaned up behind themselves. Henry waited for her near the front door while she grabbed her jacket and purse. They then headed out to her assigned police car. Once inside, she pulled the disc from out of her purse and gave it to Henry.

As she started up the car, she asked, "Shouldn't I drop you by your place so you can change? What would people think if you walk into work wearing yesterday's outfit?"

Henry considered her words and replied, "Perhaps you're right. Just hate to face Abe," he grimaced, "since I failed to call him last night to let him know that I'd be staying over at your place." He shot her an apologetic look. "My son can be so presumptuous at times and so ... potty mouthed with his thinking."

Jo snickered and drove the car into the rush hour traffic.

vvvv

Det. Mike Hanson was working hard to concentrate on reading the statement of a new person of interest in a cold case from seven years ago. He'd not been the investigating detective at that time but as a patrolman assigned to the 11th precinct back then, he was still very familiar with the case that had involved the death of an investigator from the DA's office. The new twist in the case might mean a successful resolution this time.

 _'Yeah, looks like we lucked out with this new person of interest,'_ he told himself. If only they'd had as much luck with the Moore and Trent murder cases. He shot an annoyed look again at the back of Frederickson's head where he sat at Jo's desk, awaiting her arrival. Like several times before, just as Frederickson turned his head to look over his shoulder at him, Mike buried his nose back into the papers in front of him. It really steamed him that the FBI hotshot wannabe chose to constantly overstep his boundaries where Jo was concerned. _'Now he's got the nerve to sit in her chair at her desk like he owns the place. Like he owns her.'_ He fumed again at the sound of Frederickson's voice.

"Hey, Detective, uh, Detective ... Hansel?" the agent asked, snapping his fingers.

Mike drew an angry breath in and out. "Hanson," he coldly replied. "Detective. Mike. Hanson." He raised his eyes and gave him an equally cold glare.

"Yeah, uh, sorry, Hanson, Hanson," Fredrickson replied uncaringly. "About what time does Jo, er, uh, Detective Martinez come on duty?"

Mike returned his attention to the papers in front of him. "We don't exactly have 9 to 5 hours here, buddy. Just because she's not here at a certain time doesn't mean she's not on the job," he tersely replied. "Believe me, Jo doesn't have a lot of time to warm her butt at somebody else's desk like some folks I know."

Fredrickson, annoyed, swiveled around in the chair to face him. "Exactly what is that crack supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Oh, are we feeling a little butt sensitive today?" he asked, feigning concern.

Fredrickson jumped up and stomped over to his desk, hovering over him. "I don't think I like your attitude, Detective," he spat out.

"Yeah? That makes two of us!" Mike snapped back at him.

"Do you have ANY idea of who you're talking to?" Fredrickson demanded louder.

Mike scoffed, placing his fists on his hips and eyeing Frederickson up and down. "Yeah, I've been to the circus lotsa times and I know a _clown_ when I see one!"

"Oh, yeah?" Fredrickson angrily countered.

"Yeah!" Mike angrily yelled back.

"Gentlemen." The authority in Lt. Reece's voice hit hard against their eardrums. "And I use the term loosely." She walked quickly over to stand near them, a scowl of disapproval on her face.

"In my office, Detective," she said with a flick of her head toward her door. Mike lowered his eyes and left his desk for her office. Reece turned her disapproving scowl to the FBI agent, who opened his mouth to say something but closed it when his eyes met her expression.

"That type of behavior is _never_ allowed in my precinct, Agent Fredrickson," Reece told him, managing to maintain a calm demeanor in spite of her annoyance with him. "Why don't you take a walk?" It was more of an order than a suggestion. She wouldn't mind if he took a long walk off a short pier.

"Look, Lieutenant," he began before she cut him off.

"Walk!" she repeated more forcefully. He heaved a deep sigh and still appeared to want to say more, but then thought better of going up against the She Rock of Gibraltar, as some called her. As he backed away, he looked around at the others in the room who eyed him with daggers, their hands on their weapons if needed to defend one of their own, including their Lieutenant. Even against an FBI agent. As he stormed away, Reece called after him.

"I'll be speaking with your superiors soon, so expect a call from them," Reece called after his retreating form. She then walked into her office and paused briefly in the doorway as everyone in the bullpen applauded with hoots and celebratory gestures. Smiling slightly and shaking her head, she closed the door. The Lieutenant then turned around and walked over and sat down in the chair behind her desk.

Hanson stood facing the window with one hand on his hip, running the fingers of his other hand through his hair and down the back of his head. His face was still flushed with anger. "Sorry, Lieu. He just got to me, that's all."

Reece eyed him for a few seconds, then advised him to take a seat, which he did. "I can understand your annoyance with him, Mike," she began. "He rubs most people the wrong way and you, like a lot of others here, can't figure out why Jo has chosen to ... overlook ... his shortcomings. Am I right?" she asked, her eyelids fluttering, her head tilted.

Mike growled his reply. "Basically, yeah." One hand flopped up and down in frustration. "I mean I don't get it. The guy's a jerk. Not the kinda guy Jo would really go for, ya know?"

Reece nodded in agreement, both eyebrows arched up.

"He, he waltzes in here, flashes his lousy badge like it's the golden ticket in the Wonka movie," he continued, his voice rising, and Reece stifling a laugh. "Confiscates Trent's body, all the evidence - probably destroyed it - and pre-TENDS to look for a connection between her murder - yeah, I'm talkin' more and more like the Doc - and Sean's murder. Murder!" he emphasized and dropped his hand from his hair in frustration.

Reece smiled, pleased and proud to see how dedicated one of her best detectives apparently was to his job and to his colleagues. "Cheer up, Mike," she said. "He doesn't have all the evidence."

He slowly straightened up in his chair and looked into her smiling face. "Wait, Lieu. What are you not telling me?" he asked, his previous frustration and anger replaced by piqued curiosity.

"Simply that there is other evidence being uncovered by others as we speak," she calmly replied. "FBI agents aren't the only ones who investigate, you know," she said, giving him a knowing look. "Sometimes MEs with a knack for solving puzzles get involved."

"Oh, I see," Mike slowly replied as the thought of Henry actually uncovering real evidence behind Fredrickson's back sank in. He sat forward, frowning. "You're saying the Doc's undercover?"

"Not exactly," Reece quickly replied.

Mike chuckled softly and said, "Imagine that. The Doc investigating all on his own after that jerk told him to back off."

"Oh, c'mon, Mike," she scoffed, rearranging a notepad and pencil on her desk and reaching for her desk phone's receiver. "When have you ever known Henry to allow himself to be sidelined on a case? Whenever that's happened to him in the past, it has only served to light a fire under him and he goes off on his own in search of a solution."

Mike smiled and nodded in agreement. _'Yeah, hate to admit it, but the Doc's got the knack. And with him on the trail, Mark-ee Mark doesn't have a chance.'_

vvvv

Henry, although freshly showered and dapperly dressed in a fresh outfit, was drawn to the kitchen above the antique shop by the delightful smells of Eggs Benedict and fried potatoes. In spite of not really having gotten much sleep last night, his spirit was still buoyed at the remembrance of his and Jo's almost kiss in her living room. Because of that, a smile had remained on his face most of the time both before and after his short slumber on her couch. He smiled broader at the sight of his son seated and eating at the small table.

"Morning, Abraham," he greeted him as he poured himself a cup of tea. "How was your evening?" He took his place at the table opposite his son. As he began to sip his tea, Abe replied in a markedly dejected voice.

"What's so good about this morning? Last night my daddy didn't call to let me know where he was or that he was alright." He sniffed and continued with a poutingly sad face. "I was some feared." He sniffed again and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand but failed to contain his laughter.

"Abe," Henry muttered, shaking his head.

Abe's laughter gradually ended and his face took on a more serious expression. "But you usually let me know that you're okay so I don't worry."

"My apologies, Abraham," Henry breathed out, genuinely surprised at and disappointed with himself. "I do usually call you if I'm going to be late. There was no reason for me to have not done so last night. Rather, early this morning."

"Oh, I can think of at least one reason," Abe replied with his hand on his chin and his eyes rolled upward. "It's about 5'6", long, brown hair, big brown eyes, and a smile that has a tendency to turn a certain Immortal ME into jelly ... " his voice trailed off as he lowered his eyes to meet his father's and his smile widened.

Realization swept over Henry's face prompting a warm flush to his cheeks. "Abe, you make it sound like ... " He swallowed, abandoning the rest of that thought. "I simply forgot. Which is why I left her house after only a few hours of sleep and - "

"Dad, Dad, you don't have to explain," Abe assured him with a wave of his hand. "You're spending time with Jo and next thing you know you're forgetting about everything and everybody else. Understandable," he acknowledged with a shrug.

"Abe, ... we did nothing." He saw the skepticism on Abe's face and repeated, "Nothing." He settled back in his chair and turned his attention back to finishing his cup of tea. "She asked me to stay and keep her company last night since it was so late."

"Ri-ii-ight," Abe drew out, nodding.

"I slept on the couch and cooked breakfast for us this morning, and ... Why am I explaining myself to you like this as if - as if you were the parent?" he asked, frustrated more with himself than with his son. In a calmer voice, he repeated what he'd told him earlier. "Jo and I did nothing. We ... behaved ourselves."

"Hmmm," Abe said quietly, though chuckling to himself about how the scales that balanced their father/son relationship tipped either way from time to time, such as now.

"Too bad," he continued, not yet ready to let his father off the hook. "Well, better luck next time." Ignoring his father's glare, he continued eating and reading the obituaries, occasionally circling one.

Henry paused briefly as he rose from his chair and his thoughts about his and Jo's relationship came to mind once again. He realized that it could blossom into something more than just professional, more than just friendship. Last night's almost kiss was proof of that. He'd fought against his own desires that he'd surprisingly but happily seen mirrored in Jo's eyes. It had encouraged him but caused him to feel more hesitant at the same time. As much as he wanted to, the thought of beginning a romantic relationship with her made him feel a bit selfish.

Jo had been doing well coming to terms with the loss of her husband only to now be forced to revisit that grief. Something he was all too familiar with because of the thirty years he'd nursed a broken heart over Abigail's leaving him, and had kept the hope alive that one day she'd return to them. Finding out 30 years later that she'd died only a few years after she'd left, had devastated him. The old grief had been dredged up and mixed in with the new after Adam had filled him in on his part in Abigail's death. The grief, coupled with a vengeful wrath against Adam had almost been more than he could bear. He didn't know what he would have done if he hadn't had Abe in his life to help him through those years and that particularly difficult time. Jo was going to need his help as a colleague to find out who was responsible for her husband's untimely death. And, afterward, she'd need him to be there for her as a friend. Not as a lover. As a friend.

None of his colleagues had known at that time about his condition or that the old bones pulled from a shallow grave in Tarrytown had been those of his wife, Abigail, but they'd still offered their friendly support when they'd recognized the grief in him. They didn't fully understand but they had all still been there for him. Regretting his earlier terse reply to Abe, he felt the need to explain why he hadn't 'made his move' on Jo last night.

"Abe, now is simply not the right time to pursue a relationship with Jo," he explained. "It appears that her supposed romance with this Agent Fredrickson may all be a charade in order for her to find out one way or the other if he were involved with the death of her husband."

Abe reacted with a nod, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Once these two cases are solved and she can truly put her husband to rest ... "

"I understand, Pops." Abe's voice held contriteness. "No more pushing you at her and no more teasing." Henry smiled fondly. Abe began reading the obituaries again and added, "For now."

Henry rolled his eyes with his familiar half-smile as he dialed Lt. Reece's office from the landline phone.

vvvv

"Thar, she blows," Mike Hanson comically announced as Jo Martinez walked into the bullpen and set a large latte down on her desk. Breakfast was great but she needed more caffeine than that one, small cup to get through the day. She paused before seating herself, an amused frown on her face.

"Well, Ahoy, Matie, to you, too," she chuckled and sat down. "What's got you in this jovial, nautical mood this morning?"

"Uh, mid-morning, muh Lady," he teasingly corrected her, pointing to his wristwatch. "And how is Captain Morgan doing today?" He grinned mischievously behind her back, waiting for her reply/reaction that might fetch him a pretty penny in the Jenry dating pool, so dubbed by Lucas.

She swiveled around in her seat to face him. "If you are referring to _Doctor_ Morgan, how would I know? He's fine, I guess. Happily digging around in a cadaver's chest cavity down in the morgue," she added offhandedly, swiveling her chair back around to face her desk. _'Where was he, by the way? He's supposed to be delivering the disc to Lieu.'_ She clicked on her keyboard, bringing her computer to life.

"Hmmm, a little birdie told me different," he replied. When she shot him a don't-go-there glare, he cleared his throat and wiped the smile from his face. "But what do I care? None of my business, right?"

"Ex-ACT-ly," she said. "Now, can we move on to more intelligent conversation? How about something work-related?"

"Oooh," he winced, slapping his hand over his heart and lowering his head. "Gotta watch those slings and arrows, muh Lady."

They finally settled down to briefly discuss the new person of interest in the cold case from seven years ago. His desk phone rang and he answered it. Jo turned back to her desk and wondered again why Henry hadn't made it up to Reece's office yet. Just as she decided to phone the shop, she saw Henry exiting the elevator and briskly walking into the bullpen.

"Good morning, Detective," he cheerily greeted her, patting his jacket pocket as he passed by her desk.

She smiled her reply and watched him knock on Reece's door and disappear into her office. At the same time, Mike ended his call and rose from his desk and strode over to hers.

"That cold case we were just discussing?" he excitedly began. She nodded, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Well, the guy, the new person of interest, wants to make a deal. Says he has information on - get this - the Trent case." Smiles broadened over both of their faces.

"He's down in the Interview Room. I'm headed there now. Wanna come?" he asked.

Jo opened her mouth and stopped herself from rising out of her chair. She closed her mouth as her smile left her face and settled back down in her chair. "Off limits for me, remember?" she regretfully reminded him _. 'Dang! That's three cases I can't be involved with!'_

He frowned, then remembered. She was right. Calming his features, he nodded mutely and walked out of the bullpen toward the elevators.

Jo watched the elevator doors close, wishing that she could accompany him. Looking again at Reece's door, she wished that she could be inside with Henry explaining about the disc, too. _'Okay, Martinez, just take it easy and work on this pile of paperwork in front of you.'_ Did that pile ever really go down? she wondered.

Ten minutes had passed per the clock on the wall but it seemed like an hour for Jo before Henry and Reece emerged from her office. They nodded to each other and, disc in hand, Reece walked into the area where the techs were. She spoke briefly to a male techie and handed the disc off to him. Henry walked smilingly over to Jo's desk and sat down in the chair next to it. Trying her best not to look too curiously at either Reece or him, she pretended to busy herself with the paperwork pile on her desk.

"So, what's up?" she asked nonchalantly as she flipped through a three-page crime scene report. One that she'd read already and wondered why it was still in her 'To Do' box.

Henry frowned, his eyes trained on Reece and the techie, then answered, "Oh, just shop talk." He watched Reece re-enter her office and he looked again at the techie as he removed the disc from the small Ziploc bag and placed it into the slot on his computer. He uncrossed his legs and sat forward but kept his hands clasped and his eyes trained on the techie's computer screen. But even from this distance, he could see the screen displaying the same error message that had been displayed on Jo's laptop screen. He sighed and sat back in his chair, his frustration as evident as that of the techie, who ejected the disc from its slot and walked over to another computer to his left but out of Henry's line of sight.

"This may take more time than we had thought," he said, then rose from his chair. "I'll ... busy myself in the morgue but- are you free for lunch?" he asked hopefully. Hopeful that last night was the last time that Fredrickson would be a part of her dating life.

"Um, well, I'm actually meeting my sister-in-law, Janie, for lunch," Jo told him. She'd actually only remembered just at that moment and was disappointed to have to swallow the 'Yes' that wanted to jump out of her mouth. This luncheon was important, though, since she'd only recently found out that Sean had spoken with his sister more than once during the last few days of his life. "We meet for lunch every so often," she truthfully told him.

"I see," he replied, fighting to hide his own disappointment. "Well, enjoy your time together, Detective." He bowed slightly and turned and exited the bullpen.

She really did enjoy Janie's company but she wasn't so sure that Janie would like the topic of conversation this time. But Jo felt strongly that she had to find out what she and Sean had discussed in those last few days.


	5. The Mystery of Sean Moore's Death Ch 5

"This is different," Jo said, admiringly viewing her soundings. She and Janie sat on a park bench, both of them taking in the park's greenery, the sparkling pond, the blue skies, and other park goers enjoying themselves. She unwrapped her avocado and cream cheese sandwich and took a bite.

"Yeah, I decided that we should get out this time; out amongst the throng," Janie replied, grinning around a mouthful of her avocado, bacon and cream cheese sandwich. She wiped her mouth with the paper napkin provided and took a quick gulp of soda.

"Have any idea what that stuff does to your insides?" Jo asked as she disapprovingly eyed her companion and sipped her sparkling water. "They say it melts your insides."

"They. It's always 'they' saying or finding out something bad about something good," Janie scoffed, taking a bigger gulp of soda this time. "They-ey-ey shouldn't make this stuff taste so good, then!"

Jo shook her head, smiling. Nothing ever brought down the spirits of her ever-positive-thinking friend. The only time she'd not seen Sean's sister bubbly and effervescent was during his funeral and those dark days before and months after. Younger than Sean by a year, Jo regarded her more as a sister than an in-law. They'd hit it off almost immediately after he'd introduced them and had grown closer over the years, despite her urging Jo to 'give that Henry guy a chance' because he looked interesting. Interesting. Jo laughed to herself. If you only knew, Janie. But they both had jobs to get back to so she cleared her throat, suddenly unsure of how to broach the subject of Sean's phone calls to her shortly before his death. No easy way to do this, she realized, so just dive in.

"Um, Janie, um, Sean called you a couple of times shortly before he ... before he ... " her voice trailed off again, not wanting to actually say 'died', and kicking herself for not having planned this out better. For still being such a coward to openly discuss the fact that he was dead. It was out there now, though. Nothing else to do but wait and see what she says.

Janie was a bit taken aback at her blunt statement, seemingly out of the blue. "Uh, y-yes," she stammered. "Actually, he called me from the airport right before he boarded with a strange request. I thought he was joking at first, but when he didn't make it back ... " her voice caught in her throat. Then she drew in a long breath and held it, fighting against tears. After a few moments, she released a shuddering exhale and continued.

"He said for me to take care of you; look after you." She looked into Jo's confused frown and added, "I didn't know what he meant then, but he let me know that he was serious. Jo, it's as if he knew that, that he wasn't gonna come back." Janie's eyes glistened, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. "I never mentioned it to you because ... well ... what good would it have done? Only confused you and caused you more pain," she explained.

Jo swallowed as her mind raced back to that time of their argument the night before he'd left for DC. Had she been so upset with him that she'd ignored any worry or fear that might have been in his voice? In his eyes? "Can you remember what he said to you?"

"He, he did mention something strange in a later phone call. Probably doesn't mean anything, though," Janie said with a slight shrug. "Someone had called his room the morning that he ... that he died. All they said was, 'Have you taken your vitamins today?' and hung up." Janie looked sorrowfully at Jo. "It kind of shook him up, he said, and he'd gotten the same funny call the night before he'd left. That's why he called to make me promise to look after you if, if anything ... " she sighed, not finishing her thought. "I told him that it was just a prank or a robocall misdial from a vitamin company."

The tiny lines between Jo's eyebrows pinched together as her eyes moved slowly from side to side. That phrase. What did it mean? It was obviously some kind of code, but code for what? "I remember now," Jo said. "He was packing and his phone rang. I reached for it to hand it to him but he jumped out of his skin to get to it. Knocked my hand out of the way. He didn't even say hello and ended the call after only a few seconds. When I asked him about the call, he insisted it was nothing. But I could see that it was. It wasn't like him to behave like that and when I pressed him for an explanation, he yelled at me to just drop it and to stop questioning him like he was a suspect in one of my cases."

"Sounds like something he might say but yelling at you?" Janie asked, eyes widened in surprise.

"He'd never raised his voice to me. Never," Jo said. Thinking back now, she recalled that he'd tried to apologize but she was too hurt and angry to have allowed him. "We argued some more; him trying to apologize, me rejecting it. I even accused him of stepping out on me and that's why he wouldn't tell me anything about that phone call. I just grabbed my coat and car keys and stormed out of the house. He called me several times but I refused to answer my phone. By the time I got back home sometime after 2:00 in the morning, he was gone. He'd taken an earlier flight just to ... get away from me and my ... stupid temper." She shook her head, closing her eyes.

"Sean would never have stepped out on you, Jo," Janie reassured her with a slight smile.

"Oh, I know that now, just ... me and this darn temper of mine!" Jo rasped. "But the phone records showed his last call was made to your number at 7:38 AM Eastern time." She looked Janie in the eyes and asked, "What was that call about?" Inwardly, her heart ached at the fact that Sean had not felt comfortable enough to have phoned her instead. Had he really still been that upset with her or ... had he not trusted himself to have kept the worry out of his voice?

"That last call," Janie replied, her mind recalling it. "It must have been one of those butt calls, as they say. But since I'd missed it, it went to voicemail. There are voices in the background but it didn't seem that anyone was speaking directly to me," she said with a quick shrug.

Voices in the background? "Janie, could you tell what were the voices saying? Did one of the voices belong to Sean? Did the other voice belong to another guy? Or to a female?" Jo asked the questions in rapid succession.

"Uh, no, no, couldn't make much out 'cause it was kind of muffled." Janie looked curiously at Jo and asked, "Does any of that matter?"

"I'm not sure," Jo replied. "Wish I could have heard it myself, though."

"Well, you're in luck," Janie told her, a smile finally breaking out on her face. "I saved it so I could tease him about it when he, when he got back," she finished, biting her lower lip. A mannerism that both women shared, stemming from worry, Sean had delighted in teasing them. Something they'd both denied, saying it was a mark of their superior intellect.

Fortunately, Jo knew how tech-savvy Janie was and asked her to forward the saved phone call to her partner, Det. Hanson. Janie pulled out her phone and searched through her phone and found it. While she forwarded a copy to Hanson's phone as an attachment to a text, she told Jo that she'd chosen not to delete it since it was her brother's last sort of message to her.

"Done," Janie said, closing down her phone.

"Thanks," Jo told her. Placing her nearly uneaten lunch back into its bag, she rose from the park bench and faced her friend. "Sorry to cut out on you like this, but I'd like to get back down to the precinct and explain to Mike what he's just received."

Janie abandoned her half-eaten lunch on the bench and stood up to face Jo. "Why would you and your partner even be interested in that voicemail?" When Jo failed to reply immediately, she pressed on. "You guys investigate murders." She searched Jo's eyes, waiting for her to confirm her suspicions. "You think Sean was murdered, don't you?" she whispered, then clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Janie," Jo began, drawing in a shaky breath and letting it out, realizing that the cat was fast escaping this bag. "I can't say anything about it other than we just want to make sure since what you've shared with me has to be looked at in order to rule out that possibility." Or confirm it, she grimly thought. The fact that she believed Henry's theory that Sean had indeed been murdered made her cringe at the half-truth she'd just told Janie. She reached out and squeezed Janie's hand. "I need for you to say nothing about this to anyone else, though." She pulled her car keys from her pocket and told her, "See, I'm not supposed to be on the case. It could jeopardize things down the line."

"Yeah, you and my big brother taught me well about that kind of stuff," Janie acknowledged with a pained smile. "We had lunch. We reminisced. Talked about which guy's got the tightest tush on TV." She and Jo smiled broadly at each other and hugged. "Well, go," she ordered her with a wave of her hand. "You guys do your thing." They exchanged another tight hug before Jo turned to head off to her assigned police vehicle.

vvvv

Mike Hanson's phone alerted him that he had new messages. He set his paper cup of coffee down and set to retrieving them. An eyebrow quirked up at an odd message from Jane Solari. Who was Jane - oh, Sean's sister and Jo's friend. He recalled having met her at the funeral. Nice lady but why would she be texting him? Only one thought came to mind: Jo. She had found something out and convinced her friend to pass it on to him. The veteran detective sighed before reviewing the message. It was always good to have clues that helped in a murder investigation. Disheartening, though, that the murder was that of Jo's husband, Sean. But he realized that he had to check it out like any other piece of possible evidence no matter what the outcome was.

Mike realized that the muffled talking on the voicemail would have to be cleaned up and isolated by the tech staff. He left his desk and walked the few feet over to where they labored, peering at their individual computer screens or hunched over other electronic devices. He walked up and stopped just behind the right shoulder of a techie named Cedric.

"What can I do for you, Detective?" the young man asked, his eyes fixed on the scan activity on his computer screen.

"Got a voicemail I'd like you to listen to," he replied. A smirk crossed his lips when Cedric's ears perked up and he swiveled around in his chair to look up at him.

"Anything's better than watching this boring disc scan/repair progress," Cedric sighed. He held out his hand and Mike gave him the phone. He swiveled back around to his computer but pushed himself over to the left, stopping in front of a computer with a larger monitor. "Meet Big Mamaaaa," he proudly announced to Mike. Mike shook his head, smiling, and sauntered closer to the enthusiastic techie. Cedric made quick work of waking up the computer and hooking the phone up to it. After a few mouse clicks and keystrokes, the computer recognized the phone and its contents were displayed on the screen. Scrolling down, he selected the voicemail in question and clicked it open. As they both listened to the muffled voice or voices, Cedric frowned and informed Mike that it was going to take a while so he'd let him know as soon as he got any results. Mike nodded and decided to get back to his now cold pizza and coffee on his desk. Just as he turned to leave Cedric to his task, the first computer Cedric was seated at ended its scan/repair progress and information began filling the screen.

"Well, looks like Lt. Reece's disc is finally displaying its hidden treasures," Cedric drooled. Mike casually glanced back at the screen as Cedric tilted his head from side to side, frowning. Interested, Mike drew closer, unconsciously mimicking the techie's behavior.

"Whaddaya think all that is?" Mike asked, chuckling.

The frown left Cedric's face and he replied, "I just gather the information, Detective. It's up to you guys to figure out what it is and how it pertains to any of your cases." He spoke as he ignored Mike's frown and he rose to retrieve a copy of the information from the printer. He then closed down the operation and popped the disc out of the computer, transferring it and the print copy into a sealed envelope. After signing off on the outside of the envelope, he presented it to Mike, who begrudgingly took it from him. "Please deliver this to the Lieutenant for me? And I'll get back to work on cleaning up your voicemail."

"Don't mind me, Detective," Cedric apologized wearily. "I've got a lot of stuff going on in here and sometimes I have a tendency to address people as if they were machines." Mike nodded in acceptance of his apology and promptly delivered the envelope and its contents to his boss.

vvvv

"Just a bunch of letters and numbers," Reece muttered, clutching the disc in one hand and holding the print copy of the disc's contents in the other. "Maybe we need to get Henry up here to look at all of this." She handed the items to Mike and reached for her phone's receiver.

Mike looked closer at the letters and numbers and he suddenly recognized something. "Uh, hold on a sec, Lieu." He walked quickly over to her at her desk and leaned down, pointing at one of the lines of information. "This looks like the serial number on a weapon." He straightened up as she took the paper from him and studied it again, frowning. "My dad was a gun collector. I've seen all kinds of weapons, old and new." She looked up at him, frowning more at the implications.

"Gunrunners?" she asked loudly.

"Yeah, probably people we're supposed to trust because they hide behind a uniform or a badge," he replied disdainfully.

"Under color of authority," Reece whispered. "Always hated that phrase. Means cops behaving badly," she added, fuming.

"Er, maybe not just any cops," Mike offered. Reece squinted at him under her tightened brow. "How 'bout alphabet cops?" he asked cryptically, almost drooling at the prospect of slapping cuffs on that slimeball, Fredrickson. "We run those numbers against the stolen firearms database and I'm willing to bet that each one comes up."

Reece's eyebrows flew up, then a smirky smile crossed her face as she also entertained the thought of the FBI's least-liked agent maybe being involved and being ensnared by the long arm of the law. Then she sighed. "This points to some kind of operation involving more than just one person." She sighed and shook her head again. "Other agencies and/or agents involved; ATF, DEA, Customs?" Neither of them spoke as they silently considered the unpleasant possibility that Sean Moore and Agent Trent might not be the only ones to have lost their lives in connection with this criminal activity.

Mike's cell phone buzzed and he quickly answered it. While he conversed with the calling party, he bobbed his head up and down and did his best to contain a big grin. He ended the call and pocketed his phone, turning a jubilant face to Reece.

"You'll never guess what those beautiful techies uncovered!" He quickly left her office and walked back into the tech center, Reece hot on his heels.

vvvv

Jo Martinez pulled into her assigned parking space and exited her vehicle. On the elevator ride up from the parking garage to her floor, she fleetingly thought of stopping off at the morgue to see Henry. Deciding that it was more urgent for her to connect face-to-face with her official partner, Mike Hanson, she resisted the urge to exit at the basement floor, confident that she would see him later. The elevator doors opened up at the fourth floor and she quickly strode out and headed for the bullpen. Her eyes roamed over the bullpen in search of Mike and found him in the tech center with the Lieutenant as a techie pointed to a computer screen and appeared to explain something to them. The disc! The techs were able to get some information off of it! Her first impulse was to join them but she stopped, reminding herself that she was not allowed to be an active part of the investigation into Sean's and Trent's murders. Instead, she sat down at her desk and fiddled with her neglected pile of paperwork that seemed to have doubled in size during her lunch hour. Try as she might, she couldn't forget Janie's words to her during their conversation earlier.

 _"He said for me to take care of you, Jo. It's as if he knew that he wasn't gonna come back."_

She turned her head slightly and covertly viewed the Lieutenant and Mike conversing animatedly out of the corner of her eye. They then disappeared into her office but not before Mike shot her a concerned look and ducked into Reece's office. The look on his face told her that Sean was most likely at the center of their discussion. It felt so awful to watch events unfold from the sidelines during this important investigation, but she understood why it was necessary. Nothing and nobody must get in the way of them getting to the truth of what really happened to him and to Agent Trent. She said a silent prayer and made a silent vow to her late husband. _'I may not have been there for you when you needed me most, Sean, but I promise to do all that I can to help find the bastards who took you away from me.'_


	6. The Mystery of Sean Moore's Death Ch 6

For the next few days, Jo worked other cases with Mike and Henry, and sometimes Lucas. However, they and Lt. Reece were careful about what information they shared with her (virtually, none) about either Sean's or Agent Trent's murder investigations. It gratified her to know that things seem to be progressing and not stagnating. But her curiosity threatened to get the better of her and her patience was growing thin; so these other cases that she was allowed to investigate were welcome distractions.

And her own little bit of snooping into both the personal and professional lives of her recent date-night buddy, Agent Fredrickson, had turned up the disturbing fact that he and four other close colleagues he'd often heaped praise upon seemed to be on shaky ground with the FBI. In spite of Fredrickson's boastful claims of being a top and valued member of the bureau, he and the others had been slapped with more than one disciplinary action regarding dereliction of duty and mishandling evidence. In one case, the mysterious disappearance of a large cache of weapons, grenades, and handheld, ground-to-air grenade launchers. Upon appeal, evidence was presented that pointed to it being merely the case of a typographical error. Again, another successful appeal and the charges dismissed against him and his fellow co-defendants.

However, the yeoman blamed for the typo, Edgar Phillips, was granted an early, honorable discharge only two weeks later. His application to the bureau two weeks after that had been rejected. Luckily for him, he had successfully joined the NYPD in October of 2012. Unluckily for him, though, he'd died in the line of duty only six months later in 2013.

Jo found it interesting that they'd all successfully managed to have the disciplinary actions overturned on appeal. Could be just a coincidence, she thought to herself. Birds of a feather flock together and all that. A jerk surrounding himself with other jerks as friends. Maybe even a jerk a little higher up the ladder, hence the successful appeals.

But another disciplinary action might just prompt him to tender his resignation. Jo couldn't help but wonder since she'd found out that her very own Lt. Reece had gotten him into hot water again by calling his superiors and telling them how he and Mike had nearly come to blows in the middle of the squad room a few days ago. She recalled how Fredrickson had once told her that he and his buddies had nicknamed themselves after vitamins because they all knew how to successfully "energize" a suspect into confessing. He was A, his buddies were B, C, D, and E since, as he put it, they followed him.

 _"They follow you, huh?" she'd asked, feigning interest and wondering how many innocent people had confessed after being "energized" by them._

 _"Yup," he'd responded smugly. "Anytime, anywhere, to do anything."_

 _"Anything. Hmmm. Sounds like they view you as their fearless leader," she'd half-joked but was inwardly apalled at the fact that grown men who had invididually sworn to uphold the law might be swayed to do otherwise by this man of questionable integrity._

 _"We have a code," he'd told her._

 _"You mean like a code of honor, of ethics," she'd asked more out of courtesy than belief._

 _"Ummm, no, just a code. It's how we communicate. Secretly," he'd whispered while winking at her._

It was clear to Jo that the bourbon had loosened his lips that particular evening and that he probably wouldn't have divulged any of that to her when he was sober. She was glad that they'd been in a public place instead of behind closed doors while he teetered toward total inebriation. Made it easier to point him to his home, alone, by tossing out a few dollars in cab fare.

But that recent memory had caused another to emerge. During her one date with him before she'd even met Sean, he had gone on and on about his special training at the FBI. Among other things, how he and a group of former Navy buddies had joined the bureau and had decided to get as much out of it as they could.

 _"The job just doesn't pay you what it should," he'd told her on that first date. "Sometimes I think it's not worth my while."_

 _"So, you look for another job," she'd told him, resentful that he thought that the bureau, aspired to by many but attained by few, was not worth his while._

 _"Or," he'd said, toying with his drink, "you find a way to_ make _it worth your while."_

Jo recalled that at that point, she'd had enough of trying to navigate the slippery slope of his warped thinking, and had ended their date. Hadn't even used the excuse of a bad headache (which, he was). Those absurd remarks about nicknaming themselves had been pushed to the back of her mind. But when Mike had read Agent Trent's last text message out loud, a seemingly innocent question about taking her vitamins, Fredrickson's drunken boastings had suddenly come back to her. And after learning what Sean and his sister, Janie, had discussed over the phone in the last hours of his life, it was becoming clear to her that the FBI - Fredrickson, in particular - may have had something to do with his death and Agent Trent's. But how? And who all could have been involved?

 _'They'd been in the Navy; like Sean.'_ She had known that for quite a while but Sean had never really discussed anything about Fredrickson other than making a few disparaging remarks about his character or lack, thereof. Jo had always thought that the reason behind Fredrickson's dislike for Sean stemmed from the fact that she'd almost instantly rejected his advances but had almost instantly fallen in love with Sean. After their marriage, however, she and her husband had given him no more thought. They'd filled their lives with each other's love and dedication to their respective careers. Now she wished she had gotten Sean to talk more about his relationship, if you could call it that, with the arrogant FBI man. Sean's military file had arrived in two thick manila envelopes and one much smaller, padded one that had contained his medals. She'd only given passing interest to the file's contents other than certain information required for obtaining his pension since he'd remained in the reserves after his active duty stint. Now she resolved to read every scrap of paper, front and back, as soon as she got home from work that day.

Her ears perked up at the sound of a voice with a very familiar Welsh accent coming from above her. She looked up to see Henry and Mike standing over her, staring and smiling at her.

"What?" Jo asked. "Never seen a detective hard at work before?" She was trying to play it off, knowing that they had caught her daydreaming. More like deep in thought since this whole thing was like a nightmare revisited for her.

"More like lost in a dream, wouldn't you say, Mike?" Henry asked, teasingly.

"Yeah," Mike replied, his eyes still on Jo. "And if that's workin', then I want that assignment, too; I could use a break."

"Away, away," she said, shooing them away with a whisk of her hand. Mike scooted over to his own desk, grinning from ear to ear but Henry lingered. "What's for dinner tonight?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing special," Henry answered, sighing. "Just roast pheasant." His smile broadened at the way she raised her eyes to the ceiling and feigned fainting at the thought. "There's always enough for one more," he silently urged her. She had turned down his invitations after their almost kiss in her living room a little more than a week ago and much to his disappointment, had continued to see Agent Fredrickson.

"I, uh, can't tonight," she replied, her smile waning a bit.

"I see," he replied. Clasping his hands behind his back and trying hard to mask his disappointment, he asked, "Date?"

"You might say that. A date with research." She fought her smile returning when she saw his face light up. He looked relieved and ... hopeful. What am I to you, she wondered again to herself. What were they to each other?

"Um, I could use a second pair of eyes, though." Reading over Sean's military file would go faster, she concluded, if she had help. And it didn't necessarily have to have anything to do with the case. Just trying to understand better what his JAG duties had been. And since Henry was an expert on a lot of things ...

"Why, I'd love to help you in your research, Detective," he replied, suddenly animated. "I'll just go call Abe and let him know not to hold dinner for me."

"I'm calling it quits here at 5. You can ride with me if you'll be ready by then," she told him.

"I'll be ready," he replied with a smile and dipped his head. He left to return to the morgue.

"You can ride with me, Dr. Dashing," Mike's breathless, falsetto voice badly mimicked Jo's. And in an even worse imitation of Henry's voice, he self-responded with extra bass, "I'll be ready, Detective Delicious." In his own voice, he told her between laughs, "Seriously, Jo. You two need to get a room."

"And you, sir, need to close your eyes and ears to certain things," she scolded him. "Just as I've had to do for all this time what with you guys leaving me out of what's going on." She bit her lower lip knowing that if he could let her in on the progress of the investigation, he would. "Too bad, though, that your potential squealer turned out to be a dud," she said with a conciliatory tone.

"Thanks," he replied dryly, shaking his head. "New person of interest," he scoffed. "More like a habitual confessor. Can you imagine that loony, Marshall Phillips, had us all going for a minute."

 _'Marshall Phillips,'_ she committed to memory _._

"Kickin' up the dust on a seven-year-old cold case and then wanting a deal by lighting up the Trent case," he complained. "He must have been one of the gawkers standing nearby when I read Trent's last text message to you guys," Mike reasoned. "He kept rambling on and on about vitamins. A ordered B to do the job. He was B and refused to kill a lady. Said she was pretty and smart. Made it harder to kill her. So A got C to do it." He laughed, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes closed. "Can you imagine the nut job somebody has to be to have that kind of crap swillin' around in his head and wasting our time with it?"

Jo didn't know what to think. Her heart had nearly stopped. Here Mike was unknowingly describing what sounded like a hit that Fredrickson may have ordered on his fellow agent, Janeisha Trent, and she wasn't supposed to tell him what she knew that might validate the so-called nut job's claims.

"Wow," she said. "Did you, um, call the Happy Truck for him?" she jokingly asked. But in all seriousness, she needed to know where this potential witness - not squealer - was. She, for one, might just believe him.

Mike laughed again. "Happy Truck; that's a new one. Yeah, and he's having his Happy _meals_ there for the next few weeks while being evaluated."

Jo grabbed one of the files on her desk and jumped up from her chair. "Sorry, Mike, I just remembered that I have to discuss something with Lieu before she goes to that meeting at the Commissioner's office tomorrow morning."

She walked over to Reece's door and knocked, studying the open file in an interested manner in order not to look suspicious. For there was nothing in the file that needed to be discussed with her boss. Although she knew that Reece might not be willing to discuss anything with her about the Moore-Trent case, as it was now called, she had to give it a try. Somebody who had the authority to act on this possible lead had to listen and act like it never came from her.

vvvv

Henry and Jo arrived at her house a little before 6:00 PM. Traffic had been a bear but the time alone with each other had given them time to talk about other things besides work. Much to their surprise and delight, they were met in the front of Jo's house by Abe holding a large, brown shopping bag. As they drew near to him, he smiled and held out the bag to Henry. "If Mohammed won't come to the mountain ... "

However, she did tell him of Reece's reaction to her explaining about Phillips' attempt to pass valuable information to them on the Trent case and his possible connection to Edgar Phillips. Also about Fredrickson and how he and a handful of his fellow agents had nicknamed themselves and looked for ways to line their pockets beyond just collecting a paycheck during their time with the bureau. Henry had commented that it was great that she had recalled that conversation with Fredrickson and shared it with Reece.

 _"He must have been very drunk." He'd looked over at her, obviously concerned. "Hopefully, he was too drunk to recall his slip of the tongue."_

The unspoken implication was clear. Jo's life would be in danger if Fredrickson ever realized that she was using that drunken indiscretion to be the first of many nails in his coffin. Even though Henry knew that she would pursue a lead to exhaustion, and he had no claim on her other than being a good friend, he had felt it necessary to warn her about continuing to see the man. Not surprisingly, she'd told him that she was a cop and danger came with the job.

vvvv

"Mmm, mmm," Jo cooed in delight as she cleaned her plate of the pheasant dinner Abe had brought over for them. "That was excellent. Abe is such a dear!" She wiped her mouth and hands and added, "You're so lucky to have him in your life. I mean, not just for the wonderful meals he cooks."

"Yes. Indeed I am," Henry proudly agreed, smiling. "So, Detective, are we making any progress here?" He thought they weren't but maybe she'd noticed a familiar name or two in the portion of the file she'd read.

"Nope," she replied with a sigh. "I guess what we need are the transcripts of the cases on which Sean had acted as either prosecutor or defense attorney for someone." She sighed again and leaned back, rubbing the back of her neck.

"And that would require a warrant," Henry said, pressing his lips together.

"Yup," Jo replied. "I still feel we're close, though." Looking at him where he sat next to her on the sofa, she said, "Looks like Lieu is going to have Mike re-interview Phillips at Bellevue."

Henry nodded. "I'm sure he'll do all that's necessary to glean any pertinent information from him, Jo. And I can't help thinking that it was something that Sean and Agent Trent ingested that killed them."

"Sean was healthy. No history of heart problems."

"Same with Agent Trent," Henry said, knitting his brow.

"But you never had a chance to perform an autopsy on her and you didn't do Sean's."

"Yes, but I've acquainted myself with his autopsy file. And my initial examination of Agent Trent's body, however brief, revealed only that she'd died of heart stoppage; not that she'd ever had any trouble with her heart." He paused, thinking. "Did Sean take vitamins regularly?"

Jo quietly acknowledged her memories of him and his daily vitamin regimen. "Yes. He swore by them." Her melancholy abruptly ended when she saw Henry's face, pinched with concern and dread. "Wait. Do you think that ... ?"

"It's quite possible, Jo." He reached over and squeezed her hand with his. "But before we jump to any conclusions, let's finish reading the papers in his file to make sure we don't miss anything."

Notes: Posting this short chapter because of my iffy situation with my Internet access and not wanting anyone interested to wait too long. Thank you for your patience.

Information about the FBI and how it operates found online: . /stream/FbiManualOfAdministrativeOperationsAndProceduresmaop2007/MAOP_FORMS_INDEX_

Information about Navy's Judge Advocate General (JAG) found online:

wiki/Judge_Advocate_General%27s_Corps,_U.S._Navy


	7. The Mystery of Sean Moore's Death Ch 7

_Mike's cell phone buzzed and he quickly answered it. While he conversed, he bobbed his head up and down, grinning. He ended the call and jubilantly faced Reece. "You'll never guess what those beautiful techies uncovered!"_

vvvv

The conversation was muffled on the voicemail but Cedric in the Tech Unit had managed to identify Sean Moore as one of the conversants. Mike and Henry sat in front of Lt. Reece's desk as they listened to a cleaned-up version of the voicemail in which Sean was speaking with a man who referred to himself as simply "B". It wasn't clear if that was an initial or a nickname but what was clear was his intentions to harm Sean and that "A" had directed him to do so. There was also the unmistakable sound of Sean grunting in pain and gasping for air; then the sound of something or someone hitting the floor hard. Most likely, they were listening to Sean's dying moments. All three of them wished to somehow reach into that recording and snatch that moment from ever happening for Jo's sake. Even Henry. But as painful as it was, they knew they had to listen to all of it to gather as many clues as possible from it in order to catch Sean's killer. The tape ended and they silently mulled over what they'd just heard.

"Not much to go on but still a lot more than we had before," Reece commented, after calming herself. She had never met Sean since she'd joined the precinct after his death. But she knew Jo, so she knew that Sean must have been a good man. And that recording was something she never wanted Jo to hear.

"Ya know, the more I listen to it, the more that other voice on the tape sounds like ... ," Mike paused, frowning while scratching the back of his head. "Like a perp named Phillips, I recently questioned. Said he wanted to cut a deal by giving us some info on the Trent case but what he told me at that time made no sense. But it's startin' to make sense now."

"Make sense how, Detective?" Reece asked.

He shared with them how Phillips had said he'd been dubbed "B" by his criminal cohorts and had been sent by "A" to kill Agent Trent. When he'd refused, "A" had sent "C" to do the job. It became clear, though, that Phillips had most likely murdered Sean.

"I'll bet Fredrickson has an alphabet tag, as well," Reece stated, ponderingly.

"Maybe he's the leader," Mike said.

"I seriously doubt that, Mike," Henry responded. "He's too much of a blunderbuss, severely lacking in leadership capabilities. No. The ringleader is someone with much more intelligence and cunning," he added. Someone more like Adam, he silently acknowledged. But he knew the leader wasn't Adam. Just someone as coldhearted as Adam.

"You want to look for someone in a position of higher authority. Someone who cloaks themselves in the law but bends it at will to suit their needs," Henry told them.

"Fredrickson's boss," Mike suggested.

"No. Not Melissa Largent," Reece quickly objected, shaking her head. She then frowned and whispered, "Melissa." With a pinched face, she told them, "We were at the police academy together. She was my maid of honor. She ... I can't see her involved in any of this." But how could she supervise a man like Fredrickson and not know ... ?

It was never easy to receive bad news or find out that a friend was somehow involved in or responsible for another's suffering. The Lieutenant's friend may or may not have been involved in any of this but Henry shared another train of thought with them.

"Perhaps someone like a judge," he proposed. "Sean Moore was assigned to the Navy's JAG Unit prior to becoming a DA," he told them. This was an opportunity, he realized, to have a warrant issued to obtain Sean's case papers and associated military court transcripts without Jo's involvement tainting the case. "It might help to subpoena the records of any cases he worked on from the Navy."

"Let me make a call," Reece replied, snatching up her desk phone's receiver. "We have to find out for sure who these scumbags are who give the alphabet a bad name."

vvvv

Mike pulled up and parked in front of Bellevue Hospital and exited his car. Henry undid his seatbelt and froze at the sight of Jo's car exiting the parking garage. They made eye contact but she quickly entered traffic and motored away. Satisfied that Mike was unaware, he got out of the car and caught up to him at the hospital's entrance. They went inside and Mike flashed his badge to obtain Marshall Phillips' room number. The receptionist informed them that he was in the large day room on the fifth floor. As they waited at the elevators, Mike eyed Henry with a worried look.

"Good. They haven't moved him to Rikers yet," Mike said and Henry nodded.

Mike actually had caught a glimpse of a startled and guilty-looking Jo at the same time Henry had. But because he feared that she was interfering in the case after what he'd carelessly shared with her when he'd thought Phillips' information was not helpful, he didn't dare let on. But Henry felt just as guilty as Mike did, for working on the case with Jo behind their backs. And both of them elected to keep silent in their fierce determination to protect her.

"You guys ain't as pretty as my last visitor," Phillips said dryly as they joined him at the small, round table where he sat. Wearing regular pajamas, robe, and slippers, he told them, "Kinda boring here, though, so it'd be nice if you stay longer than she did." His thinning, gray hair made him appear older than his 38 years.

"She, who?" Mike asked. "One of your cronies?"

"Nah, nah, not that one," Phillips replied, waving a hand at him. "She didn't tell me her name. Had to be a cop, though. And a real pretty one. Brown hair ... or was it black?" He sighed and said, "I dunno. This medication they keep me on ... " He pointed at Mike. "I remember you. You didn't believe what I told you. What? You're back with more questions because you believe me now?"

"Just ... tell my friend here what you told me. And don't leave anything out," Mike dryly replied.

"Who you?" Phillips asked Henry.

"I'm Dr. Henry Morgan," he replied.

"Yeah? Well, I got a pain right here near my elbow that won't quit."

"I'm a Medical Examiner," Henry clarified.

"Oh. Well, don't be offended if I don't wanna be one of your patients anytime soon," Phillips quipped.

"Start talkin', Phillips," Mike instructed him.

Phillips chuckled and for the next hour, gave them incriminating information about Fredrickson and a handful of others involved in a scheme to steal weapons from evidence lockers and sell them to anti-terrorist groups.

"And your fearless leader determines which anti-terrorist group is worthy?" Henry asked with condemnation.

"Word just comes down, okay?" Phillips replied. "Guess we're just the grunts even though Fredrickson swags around like he's in charge. We just carry out our individual assignments."

"Assignments. Killing good, upstanding people like Sean Moore and Janeisha Trent were just assignments to you?" Henry demanded. Murder was thrilling, according to Adam. Murder was merely an assignment, according to this low life and his cohorts. Why couldn't they see coldblooded murder for the great moral sin that it was?

"They were gonna gum up the works," he replied. "But like I said, that lawyer guy, Moore, just clutched his chest all of a sudden and dropped to the floor like he couldn't breathe, you know. Like he was in a lotta pain. I didn't get a chance to kill him." He looked around with raised eyebrows and said, "Maybe he shouldn't have been on that treadmill. Bad ticker."

"Anyways, ... I thought we were on some kinda glorious mission at first," he said, raising both arms up and letting them flop down. "That is, until ... until they killed my brother, Edgar," he said with sadness.

"Edgar. Edgar Phillips," Mike said, his eyes roaming back and forth. "Yeah. He was a badge. NYPD. Died in the line of duty a few years ago." He eyed Phillips in stunned disbelief. "You're sayin' that - "

"Lotsa dirt under those floorboards, Detective, once ya start pullin' 'em up," Phillips quietly warned him. "Lotsa dirt."

Henry cleared his throat as Mike sat uneasily digesting Phillips' words. An autopsy would prove one way or the other if Phillips' account of Sean's death was true or not. But for the moment, he had another question for him. "You didn't mention Fredrickson's boss," Henry said.

Phillips sighed and replied, "Look. Not every casualty of this operation is a fatality. She's one of those with a knife to her throat that could cut deeper any second if she takes a wrong step to the left or right. Know what I mean?"

vvvv

Jo found herself in front of her house. She just couldn't go back to the precinct. Not yet. She couldn't understand why she was trembling so much. It wasn't that cold outside although you couldn't tell by scarf-wearing Henry, she chuckled. He'd wear a scarf to a barbeque in July, she laughingly told herself. But he'd seen her leaving Bellevue. Somewhere she had no business being and had narrowly escaped being seen by Mike. At least, she hoped she had.

What was she thinking, she asked herself, as she got out of her car and walked up the stairs to her front door. Just messing all around behind her boss' and colleagues' backs risking contaminating any evidence that might be uncovered. So she'd made it only as far as meeting Marshall Phillips and quickly telling him that she'd made a mistake and then beating a hasty retreat. She let herself in and closed the door, locking it.

"Stop snooping around Sean's case, Martinez," she told herself out loud to what she thought was an empty house. "You're just asking for trouble."

She took off her jacket and hung it up, placing her gun and holster on the end table next to the sofa and walked into the dining room, headed for the kitchen. The next thing she heard was the sound of a gun cocking behind her and a soft footfall. Swallowing, she instantly regretted having relieved herself of her weapon.

"Too bad you didn't follow your own advice, Jo," Fredrickson told her. "If you'd only minded your own business and not snooped around, in this case, we wouldn't be where we are right now."

"Where are we, exactly?" she asked him, stalling for time but wishing she had told someone she'd be at home instead of at the office. But Henry had seen her and she clung to the hope that his concern for her meddling in the case, even more, would prompt him to pay her a visit. Now would be a good time, Henry, she silently pleaded.

"We're where I never wanted us to be, Jo!" Fredrickson virtually shouted at her. "I've got orders to silence you. Permanently. Don't!" he yelled at her when she began to slowly turn around.

"If I'm gonna die, then I want to face the coward responsible," she bravely told him.

He was pointing his gun at her but she could see regret in his eyes.

"You really don't want to do this," she quietly told him. "There is no way that my death will not be traced back to you."

"Jo ... you don't understand," he told her. "You don't understand these people! When they say someone has to be taken out, they mean it. I got no choice," he told her.

Jo could see that he really didn't want to kill her but she didn't want to spook him by trying to rush him and overpower him. She had to keep him talking long enough to get herself out of this situation. Somehow. Her heart was pounding but she was relying on her police training to govern her next moves.

"Did you kill Sean?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"No!" he replied. "No. Wasn't me, I, I didn't even know it was going down until it was too late. Too late to stop it," he told her.

"But you know who did, right?"

He hesitated before replying then nodded mutely. "The guy you went to see at Bellevue. Marshall Phillips." When her eyes widened with painful realization, he said, "Yeah. I know you were there." He sighed and continued.

"You have to believe me, Jo. If there had been a way for me to prevent Sean's death, I would have. But there were others that I knew about and I didn't lift a finger to save them, either. Don't you see, Jo? I reached the point of no return a long time ago."

Even though encouraged that Henry and Mike would probably be able to get the information they needed out of Phillips, especially about Sean's death, her focus remained on Fredrickson.

"No, you haven't," she told him. "You can stop now. You can help to stop the people behind all this madness and salvage what's left of your life and your dignity."

He cursed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. Truly sorry, Jo. But the people I answer to will make sure that your death will not be traced back to me. They know how to do things like that," he added, shrugging. "But ... this is hard. Hard to kill you." He cursed again. "You. I let you get to me. What does that say about me?"

"That you're not such a bad guy," she told him, stretching out her hand for his gun.

"If I don't do this ... what happens next?" he asked.

His eyes dropped to her outstretched hand and for just a moment, it looked like he was reconsidering his decision; that he might relinquish his weapon to her. But in the next moment, the front window shattered and Fredrickson stiffened, his chest jutting out and his arms flinging back and down as something impacted his body from behind. A look of surprise spread over his face right before his legs gave way and he crumpled backward onto the floor. Jo quickly dropped to the floor and pocketed his dropped weapon, her cell phone to her ear.

"This is Det. Jo Martinez NYPD. Shots fired into my residence. Officer down! Repeat: Officer down!"

vvvv

Almost as soon as the call had come in, Reece, Mike, Henry, and Lucas, along with a squad of police cars raced over to Jo's house. Officer Down. Those were ominous words to hear on a 9-1-1 call. Dreading what they would find, they dared not voice their thoughts. They finally reached her house and they raced up the stairs and inside. Henry's heart caught in his throat as he came to a stop when he saw the large pool of blood on the hardwood floor near the dining room. He stumbled forward toward it then picked up his pace when he saw Jo in the kitchen beyond, sitting at one the tall stools at the kitchen island being attended to by a paramedic. They all rushed over to her calling out her name.

"Hi, guys, I'm fine," she told them, smiling weakly as they all heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"The call came in Officer Down," Mike breathlessly told her.

"That was Fredrickson," she told them, nodding to the EMT as he gathered up his equipment and left. "Someone shot him in the back right after I think he'd decided not to shoot me. He was still conscious and they ran him over to the hospital. Probably in surgery as we speak."

"Not the FBI?" Reece asked.

"No," Jo replied, " _our_ guys."

"Good. Because he went after one of our own, so the jurisdiction on this case just changed again," Reece stated.

"You weren't injured, then?" Henry asked, still breathless with anxiety and concern.

"No, Henry, just ... rattled," she admitted. "And Fredrickson's got a story to tell."

"It'd better be a long one," Mike replied, at which Jo and Henry exchanged a look.

"You know, that's really cute the way you guys sometimes do what you just did," Lucas said, grinning. "With the eyes, you know. A-and I'm glad you're all right so that you can keep on, uh, you know, doing that, that thing." Lucas' voice trailed off as he plastered a smile of embarrassment on his face.

Henry and Jo exchanged another look of amusement and instead of chastising him as they often did, they both quietly thanked him.

vvvv

The warrant for Sean Moore's JAG papers was executed and within two days several cardboard boxes of material arrived at the 11th Precinct. Besides Mike, Reece, and Henry, the team of investigators now included agents from the FBI, Customs, DEA, the US Marshals Service, and even Interpol. They spent weeks poring over those and any other records deemed helpful in identifying all the players and bringing them to justice. Along with the information that Phillips and Fredrickson had provided, a flurry of arrest warrants eventually began to be issued and a dictionary-sized list of indictments handed down.

Although a sense of satisfaction was felt throughout the investigative group as each bad player was identified and accounted for, Jo found it difficult to once again deal with the deep sense of loss over Sean's death. It was gratifying to know that Henry would be allowed to do another autopsy on Sean and have access to the autopsy records on Janeisha Trent. Henry shared his findings in a group meeting in the precinct's conference room.

"Although her family had her cremated," Henry began, "the autopsy report shows that she died of an overdose of Thallium nitrate, one of the ingredients in rat and ant poison."

" **Rat** poison," Mike repeated, disgusted.

"Low doses over time, cause hair loss, among other troubling symptoms. However, the autopsy photos show her with a full, healthy head of hair, which means that she was given a high dose t once. Thallium nitrate kills before symptoms such as hair loss can take effect."

"I heard of rat poison being added to bombs because it's an anti-coagulant causing victims to bleed out more, but how did she get it in her system?" Reece asked.

"Toxicology revealed that it must have been placed in the water bottle she carried the last time she jogged," Henry replied. "Thallium was once an effective murder weapon before its effects became understood and an antidote, Prussian blue, was discovered," he continued. "It had been called the "poisoner's poison" since it's colorless, odorless and tasteless."

"As for how Sean Moore died ... " Henry hesitantly began, then pursed his lips and slowly lifted his eyes to look at Jo.

"Jo, if you wish to excuse yourself - " Reece began before being interrupted by Jo.

"I'm fine," she told them, her gaze never leaving Henry's. "Fredrickson told me that it was Marshall Phillips who killed Sean."

Mike and Lucas took in and released an uneasy breath and Reece braced herself while Henry cleared his throat. "According to Phillips, he never got the chance to ... to do the deed. Sean appeared to have suffered a fatal heart attack. Just as his autopsy and toxicology reports confirm, along with his cardiologist's report. He'd been seeing a cardiologist in Washington, D.C., for the past two years of his life," he explained to her.

Jo's eyebrows flew up and her mouth opened slightly. "Car-cardiologist? Sean was healthy. He never showed any signs of having heart problems!"

"Apparently, he was very good at keeping that information from you," Henry quietly informed her. "The pills he took regularly that you thought were vitamins were actually something called Meldonium. It's a drug used in places like Russia and Latvia to treat coronary artery disease but is not approved in the United States. It's believed that it opens up a patient's blocked arteries allowing for increased blood flow. Apparently, the medication failed to improve his condition."

"I don't ... I ... I don't know what to think now," Jo said, frowning.

"If you wish, I can still perform a second autopsy on Sean to verify his listed cause of death," Henry gently offered.

Painfully aware that all eyes were on her, she realized that her decision had to be made from more than a personal need. He had been targeted, after all, and the hitman had shown up to kill him. What if Phillips had lied to save his own skin? What if Sean had been poisoned as Trent had been? If the victim had been anyone else and not her beloved Sean, the decision would have been simple. She swallowed, gathering her emotions, and replied, "Of course, a second autopsy should be done. Thank you, Henry. Everyone."

The meeting ended with the focus of getting a court order for Sean's exhumation.

Later on that same evening on the rooftop terrace above the shop, Abe sipped an after-dinner glass of wine and studied his father, who was deep in thought. "Funny how things work out," he said. "Sean hiding his condition from Jo, the woman he loved."

"Abe. His condition and mine can hardly be compared to each other," Henry replied, swirling the wine in his glass and taking a sip.

"Not talking about the conditions, Pops," Abe replied. "Talking about him and you hiding something very important from Jo. Would you have hidden a heart condition from her?"

"I don't pretend to understand his reasons but I won't question them. I'm sure that he thought his reasons were valid," Henry concluded.

vvvv

Eight months later the investigation came to a close with nearly 100 defendants charged, including some from the NY and NJ police departments, the FBI, and several other federal government agencies. The second autopsy that Henry had conducted on Sean Moore confirmed that he'd succumbed to a heart condition he'd hidden from Jo. According to his D.C. cardiologist, he hadn't wanted Jo to have any second thoughts about them starting a family.

It was a bittersweet revelation but so much like Sean, Jo told herself. Always putting her happiness above his own. But any relationship with Henry seemed to be on hold and she realized that she did want to move on. For that reason, she had decided to pack up all of Sean's papers and give them to his sister. She recalled the look of both surprise and delight on Janie's face when she'd brought the boxes of material over to her house.

 _"These can have a better home with you and your family," Jo had told her._

The lovely, young widow smiled at the remembrance of Janie telling her that it was just what her daughter needed for her eighth-grade genealogy project and pointing out something else to her.

 _"Honey, you are and always will be family. Don't ever forget that. And you make it clear to Henry that that goes for him, too!" Janie had raised her eyebrows, laughing, when Jo had blushed. "Like I didn't know," she'd told her. "Like anyone can't see that you two should be together." She'd hugged Jo and added, "On behalf of my brother and the entire Moore family, Be Happy."_

So here she was with Henry at a Dickens Fair enjoying an oldfashioned carriage ride through Penn-Eben Park in Ebensburg, Pennsylvania. If someone had told her this time last year that she would be doing this with him or anyone, for that matter, she would have laughed at them. But it was wonderful snuggling close to him against the nip of the wintery air as the carriage approached the end point of their ride.

"This must bring back a lot of memories for you," she told him. She loved how his eyes had sparkled and his lop-sided grin had widened into a full-fledged, happy grin as he'd looked around at the passing surroundings. The community had worked hard to duplicate the look, smell, and feel of a Dickensian England with decorations, costumes, wares, and music.

"It does," he replied. His cheeks and nose were pink from the frosty air which rustled his brown curls when it blew every now and then. "I rather enjoy these smalltown versions of a Dickens Fair more than the big city ones," he said.

"Maybe one day you can visit London again," she said.

" _We_ can visit London," he told her, suddenly twisting his head down to look her in the eyes and hug her closer. "I'd like nothing more, darling, than to show you my homeland." He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "After we get lost in Paris."

Their arms encircled each other and their lips met in a lingering, loving kiss. To the appreciative crowd of onlookers waiting for a turn to ride, there was no mystery concerning the couple in the carriage. They were in love and they wanted the world to know.


End file.
